


Cradle of Still Waters

by Klade



Category: overwatch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Disabled Characters, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, McShimadas, Oral Sex, Shimadacest, Sibling Incest, Smut, Some bloodplay, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klade/pseuds/Klade
Summary: On the cusp of Overwatch's formation in 2046, the omnics turned the tide of war by unleashing biological warfare on humanity. Those infected were reduced to a feral, inhuman state--most others perished in the subsequent bombings and raids by the omnics. Twenty years later, the vestiges of humanity now cling to what scraps remain, while the omnics occupy the only habitable lands remaining.Genji was five years old when the omnics destroyed the world. He just considers himself lucky that if anyone else in the clan was spared, it was Hanzo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways fuck here's the post-apocalyptic shimadacest that literally no one asked for besides my thirsty ass. As I mentioned in the tags, this will eventually be McShimadas as well. Don't ask what McCree is doing in post-apocalyptic Japan there is an actual legit reason :3c

_ You ever wonder why the omnics bombed us? _

 

_ I wonder why they didn’t do it sooner _ .

  
  
  
  
  


There haven’t been any problems in four days. Someone with less experience travelling might have relaxed and let down their guard, content to enjoy an easy trip. Genji knows better.

  
  


His hands grip the steering wheel, eyes set ever-forward and fingers tense. If they were caught in an ambush, there would only be a handful of seconds for him to react. He glances at Hanzo in the passenger’s seat; to anyone else, he may have looked to be spacing off into the horizon.

  
  


But Hanzo is always the first one to spot danger.

  
  


They tear through the strip of barren land, littered with the husks of trees and plants that had once been. The only relief from the monotonous brown-grey of the landscape comes from occasional landmarks and desolate towns. 

  
  


That, or the ruined shells of cars by the roadside--either a remnant of the cataclysm or victims of a raider attack. It tended to be easy to tell which was which from the age of the corpses. Yellowed bones were a good sign, but they’d begun passing far too many cars still filled with fleshed bodies for Genji’s comfort.

  
  


He muses that he ought to feel remorseful for all of the lives lost. It’s hard, when he and Hanzo themselves have piled up corpses twenty feet high on the outskirts of Hanamura. He’s seen them all; plague victims, explosion victims, burn victims, radiation victims, feral or animal victims. The body of an old playmate he’d had as a child, whom Hanzo had recognized the name of when they’d pulled out her wallet.

  
  


There was barely enough left of her to bury.

  
  


But he does his best to not dwell on it. It’s too easy to fall into the trap of remorse over what’s been lost. Hanzo was only eight when the world was destroyed. It’s three more years than Genji had, which is three enough to have infinitely more memories. Genji knows that it’s as much blessing as it is curse. He knows how futile it is to dream of a world now long-dead, with himself and the other survivors clinging to its corpse and scavenging what bits of carrion they can to stay alive.

  
  


Keep charging forward, keep working, keep distracting yourself with staying alive and doing what little good you can do, and you have less time to wish for something you’ll never have and focus on what’s ahead of you.

  
  


Which, in the moment, entails slamming on the brakes when he feels Hanzo’s hand grip his shoulder. He starts, shifting forward and squinting his eyes to take stock of the distance.

  
  


The telltale glint of steel in the rubble of a collapsed building just beyond the overpass they’re on.

  
  


“You think?” Genji asks, casting a sideways glance at Hanzo.

  
  


“It moved. It’s raiders.” Hanzo hisses, a grave seriousness in his voice that made any possible retort Genji might have considered die on his lips.

  
  


Genji sighs, leaning back in his seat. Most survivors have the good sense to be petrified of the idea of a raider ambush. It’s more a nuisance than anything for him--especially when they’re an hour out of Hanamura and there's a warm bed waiting for his aching joints.

  
  


He’s already instinctively reaching for the backseat and pulling his sword out when Hanzo again grabs his arm, shaking his head. “ _ Observe your surroundings, first.” _ he orders.

  
  


Genji scoffs. It never seems to matter how old he becomes--Hanzo will never be done lecturing him as if he’s a child. He does as Hanzo demands regardless, unbuckling his seatbelt and sticking his upper-half out of the sun-roof of the car. It’s impossible to tell how many raiders there are, even from their fortuitous position on the overpass above the town. He unstraps the pair of binoculars at his waist and brings them to his eyes, scouring the setting. 

  
  


“It looks like there’s a bridge a few hundred yards to the west. Still intact. We could circle around them. Leave without them ever knowing we were here.”

  
  


“They could very well be prepared for that.” Hanzo quips back without waiting a beat.

  
  


Genji rolls his eyes at the immediate dismissal. “There isn’t anything on the bridge, Hanzo. I’m looking right at it.” he shoots back, mocking lilt to his voice.

  
  


“Oh? And you can tell that there aren’t mines underneath it too”

 

Genji often ruminates on how much he hates Hanzo’s brand of sarcasm. He tosses the binoculars into Hanzo’s lap and pulls himself back into the car. Hanzo scoffs in turn, handing them back and delivering a quick pinch to the meaty part of Genji’s thigh.

  
  


“I’ll give you a boost to that overpass.” Hanzo says, motioning to the section of overpass adjacent to and above them. “Follow the curve until you can see into the side streets by the bridge.”

  
  


Genji gives a soft snort of laughter as he pulls his own door open, following Hanzo to the side of the interpass. “And what? Hope and pray that they don’t have snipers ready to blow my brains out the second I’m up there?” he asks, one side of his lips pulling back in a smirk.

  
  


Hanzo matches it with one of his own, tabling his hands together and stooping. “You  _ are _ the self-proclaimed ninja of the wastes. What sort of ninja can’t out-spot a simple-minded raider?”

  
  


He’d been ten years old when he had called himself that, and Hanzo has never let him live it down. He chuckles off-handedly, body tensing before he darts to Hanzo, leaping and placing one of his robotic feet into his brother’s waiting hands. His body goes into a crouch before springing forward at the precipice of the thrust and vaulting himself bodily into the air. He grasps the side of the interpass with ease and pulls himself over, immediately going to a crouch and making his way down the desolate roading. 

  
  


Even twenty years after the cataclysm, the stench of petroleum and burning rubber still somehow accost his senses.

  
  


He stops when he’s far enough, peeking his head over just enough to gauge his distance. He can see into the side-streets, and he’s already cursing Hanzo’s name for being so  _ annoyingly _ right all of the time. He can see a handful of weaponized vehicles, and the hint of bodies moving around.

  
  


It isn’t until he uses his binoculars that his heart truly sinks. After he’s fully gauged the situation, he goes back to a crouch and makes his way back to Hanzo.

  
  


Once he’s landed, Hanzo is already looking at him apprehensively. Genji sighs, knowing that his own dread must be showing.

  
  


“Not raiders. Cultists.”

  
  


He can see the air physically deflate from Hanzo’s chest, and shares in the sentiment.

  
  


Raiders, at least, are easy to get a read on. The omnics had bombed the world to hell and back, and in the resounding chaos, some people had, understandably, decided that the most reasonable answer was ‘fuck it’. They weren’t going to live by anyone’s laws anymore, since the law hadn’t protected them from the omnics. If they were going to live in the husk of the world, they were going to live how they wanted.

  
  


Which, more times than often, meant stealing and murdering.

  
  


They were scum, and Genji had taken no small amount of joy killing as many as he had, but at least they had a  _ motive _ . They wanted to live, and they wanted  _ things _ .

  
  


Cultists? Genji wasn’t certain how they kept popping up, with their particular mantra of life. As far as they were concerned, some proverbial Gods or other had condemned the world for their creation of the omnics, and the bombs were vengeance. In their minds, they were already dead. And that, to them, meant that they didn’t have to be human. They attacked without any thought of self-preservation or motives, simply with the intent to torture and kill all of those the God’s ‘great cleansing’ had missed. It was their great duty, and dying in the midst of completing it was a blessing.

  
  


It never seemed to matter how many they killed; somehow, more kept popping up. Genji wonders if they’re somehow organized, or have a central base somewhere in Japan…

  
  


Hanzo snaps his fingers, bringing Genji out of his thoughts.

  
  


“Sorry.” He mutters, crossing his arms and leaning against the guardrail. “Two cars, five people in plain sight. Probably more hidden in the side streets. And I shit you not,” he says, lifting a brow, “One of the cars has a gatling gun welded to the front. You know. Like the kinds they strapped to helicopters in the old movies?”

  
  


Hanzo lifts a brow in question, but lowers it with a long breath when Genji doesn’t flinch. His eyes fall shut, and he brings one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

  
  


“We’ll cut through the streambed. They won’t see us coming until we’re already upon them.” Hanzo says definitively, already reaching into the back-seat to grab his bow.

  
  


“Aren’t you usually the voice of reason? You  _ do  _ realize that gives you five,  _ maybe _ seven seconds to kill at least five people?” Genji asks, one calloused hand going to his hip.

  
  


“You’re right. I’ll have to figure out what to do with the extra two seconds.” Hanzo says, and Genji doesn’t need to see his face to know that his lips are pulled back in that smug little smirk of his. “Perhaps pose dramatically.”

  
  


“You’re fixing up the car when--not  _ if, _ when-- they tear it to shreds. “ Genji says, prying the door open and swinging into the seat. Hanzo takes his own, and Genji throws the car into gear, swinging the wheel to the right and stepping on the gas. The car plows forward, onto the off-ramp and, with teeth gritted, barrelling over the adjacent sidewalk and into the dried stream.

  
  


Genji floors it, hands holding the steering wheel in a vice-like grip that attempts to keep them on path. It’s hard, when each rock jostles and shifts the car enough to make his teeth clatter. He hears the loose armoring of their car shaking in place, and Genji begins counting the seconds as the bridge comes into view. Their landmark nearly upon them, Genji shouts a quick “Get ready!” and sharply turns the wheel.

  
  


The car lunges over the brink, over the streambed and into the air with its momentum. They’re airborne for only a handful of seconds, but as the front tips towards the ground, Genji glimpses the cultists gaping at them just long enough to appreciate their shock. Before they even land, the two closest to the gattling gun have arrows protruding from their skulls.

  
  


Without waiting a beat, Genji slams on the gas. The smell of burnt rubber immediately fills the car, and they're charging forward again. He weaves haphazardly through the clutter and scrap on the sidewalk, and hears the sound of engines roaring behind them before he sees them.

  
  


Hanzo ducks into the car moments before a hail of gunfire rips through the back of their car. Genji can feel it clatter against the armor-plating on the backs of their seats.

  
  


“How many?!” he shouts, chancing a quick glance at Hanzo.

  
  


“Three” Hanzo returns, sucking in a breath before darting out of the sunroof. He hears something akin to an explosion, quickly followed by another bulletstorm peppering their car and kicking up the debris and dirt in front of them.

  
  


“Two.”

  
  


Genji swerves to avoid a slab of cement, barely correcting the quick turn in time to stop them from crashing into a wall. He shouts, desperately attempting to maintain control of the car as its tires screech in protest, the distinct feeling of being pulled to a toppling roll overwhelming them. His hands hang on desperately to the wheel as a sudden explosion directly before them adds enough counterpressure to right their car.

  
  


“They mined the sidewalk?!” he shouts, tires screeching as he barely manages to catch another mine in time, and drive around it.

  
  


“They don’t care if they die.” Hanzo hisses, “Go back to the stream!”

  
  


They both know it’s risky--a popped tire as much a death sentence as a mine--but Genji veers off the road anyways. The car bounces, knocking Genji between the door and console, but keeps barreling forward.

  
  


The gatling gun can’t reach them at this angle, but it doesn’t stop the ragged cultists from crawling out their windows and taking aim with their handmade guns. Genji again finds himself thankful for Japan’s stringent gun laws in the past; these hand-made things aim like the back-end of a horse’s ass, and all of the shots abjectly miss their mark on him, scattering across the back-seat liberally.

  
  


Hanzo grunts, moving himself out the side window and propping himself up with one foot hooked around the seat, firing at the cultists. Even as the car shifts and jolts with the uneven terrain, he looses two arrows. One strikes the driver of one car, sending them careening into the streambed and crashing with a rewarding crushing of metal.

  
  


There isn’t time to celebrate; the moment Genji turns away from the wreckage, he realizes one of the other cars has pulled directly to their side and above.

  
  


“I’m flooring it!” he shouts to Hanzo, waiting only long enough for Hanzo to steady himself before slamming on the gas. 

  
  


Hanzo continues to shoot, long bangs whipping across his face. One man with a juryrigged shotgun screams as one lodges itself in his neck, sound muffled by the blood surging from his wound and bubbling from his mouth. Another man is quick to grab him by the scruff of the collar and throw him from the vehicle, taking his place and aiming with a crossbow. The bolt whizzes past Hanzo, lodging  into the top of the car.

  
  


He turns long enough to glance at it, immediately snapping back and pulling his own bowstring. The cultist doubles over, clinging to the window and shrieking wildly, grasping at the arrow that's pierced the shoddy armor on his chest and buried itself in his chest.

  
  


Any sense of accomplishment is short-lived, when the car suddenly jolts, knocking his ribcage against it and the air in his lungs. He grunts, pushing himself back upright. “Who taught you how to drive? Switch to four wheel drive!” Hanzo shouts, repositioning himself and pulling the string of his bow.

  
  


“You! And busy!” Genji returns, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and reaching behind his back, tearing loose the tanto attached to his belt. He gives an involuntary shout when the man he’d seen preparing himself to leap lunges at their vehicle, landing bodily and grasping the slabs of metal armor welded to the car.

 

He’s quick to shove his head through the window, eyes bulging and dirt-caked skin cracking with the width of his manic smile. He scrambles to shove a rusted katana through the window, shrieking with joy when he manages to cut a shallow line into Genji’s cheek. Genji, already fighting the steering wheel and rocky streambed, doesn’t gratify the cultist with any of his attention. He can hear where the man is wheezing from, and with one swift movement, buries the blade of his tanto into the man’s throat.

  
  


A thick mist of blood splatters against his face, and he can’t help but grin as he tears the blade back out. He turns long enough to watch the man’s free hand go to his throat, desperately flailing as he attempts to suck in breath that won’t come.

  
  


Genji sheathes his tanto, leans to the side to place his own hand over the man’s own on his throat, and gives a quick, simple shove. The car jerks, jostling them forward with the sudden ‘thud’ that comes from the back wheel running the body over.

  
  


Genji can hear Hanzo give a chiding noise, and smirks when his brother doesn’t try to reprimand him.

  
  


Another whooping cheer reminds him that there’s still the other car to deal with, and this one has too much plating for Hanzo to simply lob full of arrows.

  
  


He looks the quasi-tank over, attention pulled between the stretch of streambed before them, and trying to find a weakness.

  
  


It doesn’t take long.

  
  


“Hanzo!” he shouts, waiting for his brother to pull himself back into the car.

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“Take the wheel. I know what to do.” he shouts, trying to drown out the sound of the gatling gun perpetually firing overhead.

  
  


Hanzo’s eyebrows stitch together, and Genji can tell that he wants to argue. He scowls back, grasping one of Hanzo’s hands and forcibly placing it on the wheel. Hanzo will probably scold him for it later, if his indignant glare is anything to go by, but he follows Genji’s demand, sliding over until he’s in control of the gas and car.

  
  


Genji smirks, propped in a crouch on the open window. He ducks forward long enough to place a swift kiss to Hanzo’s cheek, before pulling back and using every ounce of strength in his synthesized legs to dart onto the armored car.

  
  


He feels weightless for a moment, before that all crashes around him and his body collides with the side of the car. He grasps at a section of armor and, with a labored breath, pulls himself up onto the roof.

  
  


He rolls to one side when one of the cultists darts their arm through the window and starts blindly shooting at him and laughing with blind delight as he does so.

  
  


That’s not the man Genji cares about.

  
  


Placing an index finger and thumb into his mouth, he whistles sharply. The man at the front of the car finally turns, smirk spreading to a wide-grin as he swings the gatling gun around to face him. He shrieks with a childish delight as he pulls the trigger, the front of the gatling gun erupting in a spray of bulletfire.

  
  


Genji ducks his head, and can feel the heat of the bullets ricocheting off the metal plating ebb over him. When, finally, the  hail stops, Genji looks up.

  
  


He can see the realization dawning on the man’s face when he sees what he’s done. Genji’s almost jealous he can’t see into the carnage of shattered glass and flesh that the front seats have undoubtedly been reduced to. He reaches into his belt to grasp a shuriken, tossing it into the gunner’s forehead and, without waiting to see him topple over, jumps back to Hanzo’s car.

  
  


With his robotic arm on the car, he turns, flesh hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he watches the cultist car drive into its own mine.

 

His eyes squint at the flash of light and shrapnel, smile only fading when the car hits another rock and threatens to toss him off.

  
  


He scrambles back into the passenger seat, throwing on his seat belt just as Hanzo sharply turns the wheel, pulling them back onto the road and sharply turning into a side street. He weaves through the streets wordlessly, shoulders stiff until they make it through the town and onto the open road.

  
  


“That was so cool, Genji. You’re the  _ smartest and the best. _ ” Genji says with a childish lilt, leaning over to elbow Hanzo. 

  
  


Hanzo spares him a flat stare before he turns back to the road. “Tricking a cultist isn’t a difficult task.” He says, leaning back in his seat. “Even if it was...humorous.”

  
  


Genji’s face splits into a smile, laughing along with Hanzo. He places his feet on the dashboard and reclines back, attention set on the horizon.

  
  


They shouldn’t be alive--but then, neither should anyone else if the omnics had gotten their way, so he isn’t about to question their luck.

 

One more hour of driving, a quick stop at the trader’s, and then he’d get his well-earned rest.

  
  


\---

 

Hanzo rarely cared to stick around while Genji haggled prices. He’d assured Genji that it was simply irritating for him, but as Genji looks the owner of what is the only trading store running in Hanamura, he thinks it has more to do with the way she looks at him.

  
  


“Come on, Momo-chan. You can do better than that.”

  
  


She looks him up and down, one finger tapping her chin. “Ojiisan won’t be happy if I keep giving you deals.” She says, leaning forward against the counter and looking over the gun he’d brought. “ _ And _ he’ll probably want to add it to his collection, which means  _ I  _ won’t even get any money for it.”

  
  


Genji smirks, leaning against the counter in turn. “Think of it this way: you get to make two of your  _ favorite people in the world _ very happy. Two birds, one stone, right?” He says, one side of his lips pulling back in a half-grin.

  
  


She pulls her lips into a thin line, broadcasting how  _ very little _ she cares, and runs her hand along the gun. “You talk to your boyfriend about my proposition yet?” She asks, raising one brow.

  
  


“Yeah, he’s still not going for it. You know how he is about honor and dignity, and all that.” Genji says, scratching at the side of his neck as he offered a shrug. He doesn’t mention that Hanzo had  _ balked _ the one time he’d mentioned it to him.

  
  


She gave a shrill bark of laughter, flattened palm pounding against the countertop. “Honor?!” she asks, eyes squinting together and swinging her arms to the side in an over-exaggerated shrug. “He’s in an open relationship with a green-haired idiot who consistently makes puns in the middle of sex, but a threesome is what’s going to taint his honor?” she asks, arms folded.

  
  


Genji can’t help but chuckle in turn. 

  
  


_ You don’t know the half of it. _

  
  


“I’ll keep working on him.”

  
  


She considers his words, one finger tapping her lower lip. “Fine.” she says, stooping down and grasping a handful of yen and counting through them. The pinned bun in her hair bounces as she rhythmically bobs her head in time to her counting, eventually handing the bills over the counter.

  
  


Genji takes them, lips pursed as he looks over the amount, and pockets it. “Thank you, Momo-chan~” he says, blowing her a kiss. She rolls her eyes, grasping the gun and placing it under her counter.

  
  


“I just hope someone buys it before Ojiisan comes back.” she mutters darkly, standing up straight and resting her elbows against the counter. “So. Just the guns on this trip?” she asks, and he can hear the hesitance in her voice.

  
  


It’s been a few years since he and Hanzo began going on trips to try and find other settlements. They’d been lucky a handful of times, and even helped establish trade routes between some of them. More often than not, it was just ancient bones in ancient ruins, with only the ferals around to create any semblance of life. When they were especially unlucky, it was raiders or cultists.

  
  


He knows that Momo is still holding out a sliver of hope that they’ll find her mother in one of the towns. Genji tries to smile, and shrugs. “Just the guns this time. I’m sure we’ll find some people next time, though. We’re planning on going further north.”

  
  


She nods wordlessly, with the unspoken knowledge that neither of them need to say anything more than that. “Sounds good. You headed home after this?” she asks.

  
  


“Yeah, Hanzo’s probably waiting for me to get back.”

  
  


“Oh? You think he’ll be mad if you’re late?” she asks with an upturn of lip, standing back up and wrapping her arms behind her back. “A traveler sold me some incense yesterday. You should come up and enjoy it with me before you leave.”

  
  


It’s a slightly more subtle way to say ‘ _ come up to my room so we can fuck _ ’, and Genji can appreciate the utter lack of tact. He gives it in turn with a quirk of one brow. “You know I can’t say no to incense.”

  
  


\----

  
  


Hanzo can’t sleep without knowing where Genji is. When Hanzo leaves for days at a time on his hunting trips, Genji always keeps his handheld radio close at hand. He would lie about it if asked, but more often than not, he would place it on Hanzo’s pillow and mutter his good-nights into the pillow. It made the vast emptiness of Hanamura castle feel less overwhelming, and he had an inkling that it did the same for Hanzo.

  
  


Genji does feel a tinge of guilt when he finally climbs the high walls of Hanamura castle and sees moonlight spilling across the courtyard. It’s probably an hour later than Hanzo’s usual bedtime, and Genji’s already dreading Hanzo’s displeasure.

  
  


He walks briskly over the splintered floorboards and into the interior of their home, jogging past the empty, desolate rooms until he makes it to theirs.

  
  


He’s been sharing a room with Hanzo for six years now, leaving his old room as more of a collection of his favorite scavenged items. Hanzo calls it a deathtrap of clutter, only further proving how little taste he had as far as Genji was concerned.

  
  


The room they share is far more organized; so sparsely decorated that someone could easily mistake it for one of the abandoned rooms.

  
  


He slides open the door can see the basic shape of Hanzo swaddled in the mound of blankets.

  
  


He attempts to creep over the floorboards, but he can tell Hanzo has been aware of his presence from the moment he’d opened the door.

  
  


“Very sneaky, ninja-of-the-wastes.” Hanzo says, voice muffled by the sheets.

  
  


Genji smirks, crawling onto the bed on all-fours. He grasps Hanzo by the shoulder and gently jostles him.

  
  


Hanzo grumbles but complies, shifting onto his back. He looks up at Genji and does his best to scowl, but the expression doesn’t carry much weight when he’s already lifting a hand to cup his face.

  
  


Genji leans into the touch, kissing the palm. Hanzo’s hands are large and calloused--everything Momo’s aren’t. It makes him feel small, to be held like this--but also supported in a way that makes his very bones ache with fatigue and need. He leans down, muttering a soft, “I missed you, too,” and places his lips against Hanzo’s.

  
  


He isn’t prepared when Hanzo sharply turns his head, one hand moving to cover his mouth. “You reek of her.” He hisses. “Go brush your teeth.”

  
  


“Don’t want to.” Genji sulks, easing his weight off of his arms and laying fully on Hanzo’s chest. “I can think of a better way to fix that.” He smirks as he kisses under Hanzo’s chin, gently sucking at the skin. He waits long enough for Hanzo to react, teeth running over the thin flesh of his neck and stopping at the base. Hanzo finally sighs, one hand going to the back of Genji’s head and giving his consent in the form of tilting his head to provide better access.

  
  


_ Cute. _

  
  


He trails a series of kisses over the cut of Hanzo’s collarbone before pulling back. He lifts the covers enough to slip under, straddling Hanzo’s hips and leaning forward; the silken sheets slide easily off his back, pooling at their joined hips. He unties the sash of Hanzo’s robes, kissing the center of his chest. His eyes dart up, watching as Hanzo’s chest shudders with uneven breathing. One hand instinctively goes to cover his mouth, gasping into it when Genji’s tongue swirls around a nipple.

  
  


He sucks on the hardened flesh, teeth pulling against the base of the bud. His attention never leaves Hanzo; drinks in the way his brows furrow together, how he can hear Hanzo sucking in air through clenched teeth. Hanzo’s eyes meet his own, and he’s frozen; there’s that undeniable sincerity in his smile that always makes Genji feel vaguely castaway, apart from reality and floating somewhere outside of it. He pulls back and moves down, almost mesmerized as Hanzo never breaks eye-contact.

  
  


Hanzo’s hands run through his hair as he plants a steady line of kisses down his abdomen, burying his nose into his skin and inhaling. He smells of blood and smoke--knows they both do. There’s the faint scent of soap clinging over it, but it’s a veil that can’t fully disguise what’s embedded into their flesh.

  
  


His hands move to pull at the hem of Hanzo’s pants. Hanzo complies by lifting his hips from the bed, allowing Genji to slip them to his knees. He tilts his head enough to burrow his nose into the scruff of Hanzo’s pubic hair, hands grasping heavily at Hanzo’s hips. They keep him grounded as his head swims, the waft of Hanzo’s sweat-matted skin and sex clouding his vision.

  
  


He lifts his head, eyes half-lidded as he looks down, lazy grin forming on his face. “Look at you,” He cooes, bringing one hand to wrap around the base of Hanzo’s hardening cock. “I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already leaking.”  he says, fingers just ghosting over the rosy cock and deftly swabbing the pad of one thumb over the slit. He pulls it back and watches the precome dribble to the center of his palm.

  
  


He doesn’t need to look up to know that Hanzo’s cheeks have colored at the comment, but he does so anyways.

  
  


He shifts again, angled at Hanzo’s side and lowering his head. His eyes flutter shut when he brings Hanzo’s head to his lips, parting them just enough to let them rest over the crown. He breathes deeply, turning his head to allow his lips to ghost over the length of the shaft. He kisses the base and runs his mouth back up, pulling back on the foreskin enough to fully expose the head and run his tongue over it. A thick strand of pre links the base of his lip with Hanzo’s cock as he pulls back, running his tongue over his lip to break it.

  
  


“Want me to…?” Genji trails off, sitting back up and bringing two of his robotic fingers to tap against his bottom lip. He pulls them apart in a scissoring motion, eyebrows waggling when Hanzo meets his eyes. His body stiffens when Hanzo bites his bottom lip, attention focused on his fingers. He nods breathlessly, legs spreading wider.

  
  


He continues to lazily stroke Hanzo’s cock with his free hand, smirking as his tongue moves to part his fingers and pull them in. The acrid taste of metal hits him full-force, but he ignores it. Hanzo’s brows visibly pull together as Genji suckles his own fingers, making a show of running them over his lips and popping them out lewdly.

  
  


Hanzo flinches when Genji first presses a cold finger against his hole, relaxing when Genji kisses one of his raised legs. He slowly penetrates Hanzo, shifting down to wrap his mouth around the head of his cock. It doesn’t take long for Hanzo to ease into the penetration, relaxing around Genji’s synthetic finger and moaning with relief when Genji inserts his second finger.

  
  


Genji wants to take it slow--nearly always does--but never has the self-control to do so. He wants to watch Hanzo writhe; wants him to beg for more and whimper his name. But more than that, he wants to give Hanzo what he wants.

  
  


Without even fully meaning to, within minutes he bottoms out on Hanzo. The tip of his nose pushes into Hanzo’s pubic hair, eyes watering at the sensation of Hanzo’s cock lodged in his throat. His throat constricts at the presence, and he leaves a long trail of drool when he finally pulls off. He slams his fingers into Hanzo, crooking them at the joint to pound into his prostate. He tries to find a rhythm, but he’s too far gone to be anything other than sloppy and desperate.

  
  


Hanzo is groaning openly now, and Genji pulls his head from his cock. He loves doing this--milking an anal orgasm out of Hanzo, leaving him to thrust his cock helplessly in the air. He shifts upwards, laying at Hanzo’s side as his fingers grind into him.

  
  


It’s here--their refuge--that Genji can almost forget everything. The decimated buildings, the piles of gratuitous gore, the emaciated, lumbering ferals; nothing is real here. Between the four walls, there’s only the desk, the bed, a single potted plant, and  _ Hanzo _ .  Genji drinks it in, engulfed in Hanzo’s heady scent, cheek pressed to sweat-slick skin.  In that moment, he feels once again that he'll never be able to give Hanzo enough; never fully express how much he loves him, or show how much he truly needs him. He whimpers, eyes falling shut as he resumes grinding his fingers into his brother, breath coming in stuttered gasps as he feels Hanzo press into him.

  
  


It’s never enough; he always wants more of Hanzo. Wants to lose himself in his arms, wants to feel and know every part of him. It’s overwhelming, and he can’t keep pace with the tightness forming in his chest. It’s obsessive, he knows, but he lets it consume him.

  
  


He reaches his other hand to Hanzo’s neck--can feel his pulse race wildly under burning skin, and the thick way he swallows, moaning with a chorus of ‘Uh-Uh-Uh’s as Genji again crooks his fingers against his upper wall and pumps into him. He softly shushes his brother, rubbing comforting circles into his skin. “I’m here.” he whispers, utterly destroyed by Hanzo’s desperation. It easily grows to a fervor, unless Genji acts as an anchor. Sometimes he does; others he lets it consume them both, and relish in the visceral need.

  
  


Hanzo tries to quiet himself, but Genji makes a point of slamming into him harder until Hanzo lets out a stuttered gasp. He’s rutting into the air helplessly, cock dribbling over the taut musculature of his abdomen. He turns his head, eyes barely open in a squint and locked on Genji’s. Genji can see Hanzo silently mouthing his name, eyes fluttering shut.

  
  


Hanzo’s body goes rigid, fingers digging into the bedding when his orgasm hits him. Genji can feel Hanzo clamp down around his fingers, and watches through hooded eyes as his head cranes backward, long black hair framed around him.

  
  


He tilts his head to angle their lips together, softly moving his fingers as he helps Hanzo ride out his orgasm.

  
  


When his breathing finally evens out, Genji pulls his fingers out of Hanzo and wraps his arm around him. Hanzo had once been meticulous about cleaning up after fucking; Genji had eventually worn him down, and now fully enjoyed basking in the aftermath, nose nuzzling into Hanzo’s cheek.

  
  


Hanzo’s arm wraps around Genji, wordlessly pulling him close. Hanzo’s love had never come in words, but in actions, and the fingers gently stroking the small hairs on the nape of his neck soothes Genji more than any spoken word could.

  
  


“Don’t leave me tomorrow.” He whispers into Hanzo’s skin.

  
  


“I have to check the traps.” He returns evenly, turning his head enough to place a kiss to Genji’s cheek.

  
  


Genji doesn’t respond. He knows he can convince Hanzo to prolong his trip, even if it means surrendering meat to the ferals. He knows Hanzo would put off anything if Genji insists. The guilt creeps up the back of his neck, knowing how selfish he could be.

  
  


“Then promise me we’ll go to the hill when you get back.” He mutters.

  
  


He can feel Hanzo’s chest rumble with a chuckle. 

  
  
“I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so long overdue. Had a con to prepare for at the start of the month & it sure drained me. And there isn't even any smut in this chapter, I'm sorry I've failed you all :'C

The apartments are a bust. A frantic breeze whistles past his ears and into the space between his neck and scarf. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. The rooftop is a welcome relief from the musty apartments--even with the ever-present stagnancy of rust and gunpowder carried on every fetid breeze. Wetting one fingertip, he pulls the familiar sleeve of paper from his back pocket and draws a crude ‘X’ on his frayed map. He pockets it again, petting the almost embarrassingly light bulk of his canvas bag. 

 

It’s getting more and more rare to find anything that hasn’t been scavenged through to hell and back. There were approximately 100 other people he knew of who had survived in Hanamura. Considering that there were people he’d likely never managed to run into, that could bring the count to 150, or possibly 200 people all scavenging through the same wastes for the same supplies over a span of twenty years. It made sense that nearly everything had been stripped to its core.

 

No, when he considered it, the number was still probably closer to 100 now. Factoring in those who had perished within the past two decades from either starvation, raiders, or running into one of the city’s plentiful feral packs, he could only assume their numbers were slowly dwindling.

 

He made a mental note to dedicate some time to checking in on the survivors he knew of. It would take some time, and Hanzo would berate him for wasting what precious amounts of it they had before winter set in, but he knew he had to. If they didn’t at least  _ try _ to help, it wouldn’t be long before every living person in the city perished one right after the other.

 

And even  _ Hanzo _ would have a hard time living in a city with only corpses.

 

Still; even with only one hundred people to contend with, most every building of note had been plucked to shreds after the Reckoning. He reaches into his bag with one wrapped hand to examine its contents. Calloused fingers slide over the cases of an array of old video games and movies, with a few sets of fine, folded robes among their ranks. Lucky for  _ him _ that the supplies he needs to find aren’t what everyone else needs: food, water, medicine. Hanzo easily provided the first, they had a running well at the castle, and had lived with an engineer on the onset of the initial fallout that had helped them find enough medicine to keep them well-supplied for decades to come.

 

A dull part of himself knew he ought to feel bad for his relative comfort; so many others, even beyond the city of Hanamura, struggled just for the very basic necessities to keep themselves alive. He knows it’s a selfish thought, but there’s a cathartic comfort in the selfishness. 

 

He recloses his bag, pats it for good measure, and pushes away from the raised railing of the building. The sun has begun to bloat pregnantly in the sky, sagging heavily towards the horizon with a spill of  verdant reds and oranges pooling around it.

 

He only pauses when he sees a hint of movement in the distance. Too small for a feral pack, and moving too quickly to be a cautious survivor.

 

In one quick movement, he tears the gasmask from his face and lets it fall gently to the ground. He winces at the sensation of the straps having pulled loose a few strands of hair, but ignores it for the time. He tears the binoculars from his hip and raises them, quickly focusing in on the duo making their way through Hanamura’s street.

 

He spots them and sneers.

 

How  _ cute _ . Another pampered little omnic and its human slave. He rests an elbow against the railing, watching their movements. He’s never quite understood why, every so often, curious little omnics decide to stray from their safe haven and come to their rotting husk of a cityl. He looks over the omnic, eyebrows furrowing at the sight. It isn’t the typical, finely dressed omnics they’d seen almost ‘touring’ the city. One side of his lips pull back in a grimace. It’s clothes are almost reminiscent of the monks’ he’d seen in movies and books.

 

Were the toasters not happy just stealing the goddamn world from them? Why not steal their cultures and religions, too?

 

He’s almost too wrapped up with the  _ omnic _ , that he almost misses the human at his side. Which would be a shame, he idly thinks, his face splitting with a grin when he moves the binoculars up to look at the  _ man wearing actual chaps _ .

 

Whether or not it’s a personal choice, he can’t tell; different omnics have different rules for their humans. Either way, he looks like an  _ idiot _ , and Genji almost feels sorry for the poor fool. An omnic bringing a human  _ usually _ means they’re looking to establish peaceful communication. Either to look for new places to put down roots, or take more humans back to their city. ‘You’ll have a better life’, they promise, while preparing the thick iron manacles to strap around your wrists and ankles.

 

Maybe it was a blessing for some people. Never having to worry about food or water again. A bed to sleep in every night without the fewr of being torn to shreds by a pack of ferals.

 

Genji couldn't blame the humans who allowed themselves to be enslaved, no matter how much it burned like bile in the back of his throat. These were the monsters who had destroyed the world, and now so many had no choice but to let the omnics pour salt in the wound.

 

He would never relent.

 

It didn’t matter what the omnic was here for. Like every other omnic who’d come sticking their chrome skulls into their home, he and Hanzo would send them back with either their tail between their legs, or in a bag of scrap parts.

 

He wastes no time in pulling the bow from his back and stringing it. He isn’t as proficient with the bow as Hanzo, but they’re too far for his shuriken. He looses the arrow, smiling when he sees it land in the wall directly behind them. He’d been  _ aiming _ for the vase in front of them, but it worked. He pulls his binoculars back to his eyes in time to see the human grasp at the omnics shoulders and push him hurriedly into the nearest alleyway.

 

_ Dumbass _ es. He holsters  the bow and binoculars. Once he's pulled the tight rubber straps of his gasmask taut to his face, he makes  his way to the fire escape. Hopefully that was enough to scare them off. He’d chase after them normally, but it’s hard to consider chasing down two idiots when the promise of  _ food _ and  _ Hanzo _ are waiting for him at home.

 

If the ferals didn’t get the two in the night, they’d be out of here by the morning. That, at least, is a pleasing mental image that occupies him during his trip back.

 

\----

  
  


The doors to Hanamura castle screech on their hinges, cracked wood trembling against rusted metal.

 

Genji sucks in a chest-full of fresh air the second he tears the gas mask from his face. Of course, ‘fresh’ is a subjective term, as the air in the ruins of Hanamura castle is only marginally cleaner than than the air of the city below. Enough to walk around unmasked, and that makes all the difference. He runs his free-hand through his matted hair as he does a once-over of the desolate castle grounds. Hanzo had done one hell of a job with the castle’s upkeep over the years--so much so that Genji had joked that the omnics in Tokyo might soon turn their sights to Hanamura if he was too meticulous.

 

“Hanzo? You home?” Genji calls out. He carefully hangs his mask on the repurposed coat-rack by the door, and notices that Hanzo’s mask is absent. He shrugs to himself, throwing down the bag of scavenged goods on the floor beneath the rack. It was rare for Hanzo to stay out longer than he did; it was usually  _ him _ berating Genji for not being careful enough.

 

_ You put yourself directly in harm’s way when you stay out that late! Do you want to get swarmed by the ferals? _

 

Genji rolls his eyes as he remembers the familiar lecture. No one they've ever met can seem to agree on what to call the walking demihumans. The undead. Walkers. Hanzo insisted on calling them ferals _ \--why  _ everyone refused to call them what they really were, he didn't know. He’d seen enough of the old American horror movies to know what they were, even if Hanzo got mad whenever he called them  _ zombies _ .  _ No Genji, they’re just sick. You don’t really remember what it was like when the bombs fell and the sickness first spread. _

 

They eat people. They’re braindead. They’re zombies.

 

He sighs, closing the front gates and walking along the splintered wood of the once-illustrious walkway and into the courtyard. He figures he might as well wait and see if Hanzo is going to make it home for the night before making himself dinner, and takes a seat on one of the many rocks situated below the spindled arms of the once prolific cherry blossom trees. He hopes Hanzo makes it home; his brother did sometimes disappear for days on end when he went hunting outside of the city limits, and he knew he should have been appreciative of it, but all it really meant to  _ him _ was going days without his brother’s company.  _ Blah blah blah fresh meat is important we can’t just keep scavenging, you really should learn how to track and kill blah blah. _

 

He considers going to visit one of the other survivors in the area. After a moment’s consideration, he thinks better of it and lays back against the rock, eyes falling half-lidded as he stares at the last remnants of sunlight piercing the murky gray sky.

 

Nice as it was to visit and trade with the others, the thought of getting to wrap his arms around Hanzo the second he’s through the gate overwhelms the notion.

 

With a smile at the thought, he lets his eyes fall shut, and slowly drifts into an uneasy slumber.

  
  


\--

 

There was a time he had been able to sleep heavily enough to miss his brother returning home. He would wake in a warm stupor, distantly realizing that Hanzo had carried him from wherever he’d fallen asleep and tucked him into his own bed. He would simply remain where he was, content to stay swaddled in the security of his blankets until Hanzo came to check on him.

 

That was many years and many raider and feral attacks on the castle ago.

 

Now, as the entry gate groans on its hinges, Genji is immediately upright and alert, one hand instinctively going for the hilt of his blade. His fingers grip the wood until his knuckles turn white, pulling the blade as he darts to hide behind one of the banisters.

 

It isn’t until he hears the familiar, high-pitched tune of Hanzo’s whistle that he breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders going slack. He sheathes his blade, a burgeoning smile spreading across his face when he peeks his head around the corner.

 

From the looks of it, Hanzo had a successful hunt. The rucksack over one shoulder looks heavy, at least. He bites his bottom lip as he ducks his head back around the corner and flattens his back against the wall. He sucks in a silent chestful of air and waits, ears straining for the sound of his brother’s approach. As the seconds slowly pass with no sign of his brother, he carefully moves forward to peek his head around the corner.

 

“Still not stealthy, ninja-of-the-wastes.”

 

Genji can only give a sheepish smile when he finds his brother waiting expectantly around the corner, arms crossed and one brow raised.

 

“I would have had the drop on you if--”

 

Hanzo quickly interjects, “If I hadn’t just woken you? No matter how many times I remind you how dangerous it is to sleep out in the open?” he asks, stepping forward and hoisting the bag over his shoulder and placing it on the ground by his side.

 

Genji grins broadly at the invitation, covering the distance between them with one step and bodily wra[[omg his arms around his brother’s waist. He chuckles at Hanzo’s sigh of resignation, only enjoying the act of lifting his brother off the ground in an embrace all the more for it. He nuzzles his cheek against Hanzo’s chest, chuckling when he feels Hanzo lightly wrap his arms around his shoulders in return.

 

“Missed you.” he mumbles into the thick fabric of Hanzo’s robes.

 

“It was only a day this time, Genji.” Hanzo mutters in return, but Genji can hear the underlying affection in his voice.

 

He winks at Hanzo, carefully setting him back down on the ground. “An ornery cat scratched me today. It made me think of you.” He remains still when Hanzo lifts a hand to push Genji’s hair back, scoffing under his breath.

 

“Stop petting stray cats. You’ll shame our ancestors if you make it through twenty-years of the apocalypse  only to die from a cat scratch.” he returns evenly, eyes still fixated on Genji’s hair with a furrow to his brows.

 

Genji lifts a brow at him and waits a moment for Hanzo to stop  fiddling with his hair. When he doesn’t, Genji reaches forward and grasps both sides of Hanzo’s face with his hands, lightly squishing his cheeks together. “I don’t think there’s much more we could do to shame them more than we already have.” he says, smirk only widening when Hanzo pushes him away with a scowl.

 

“ _ Pretend _ to be a mature adult for one night, will you?” Hanzo mutters, pushing his own bangs into place. He leans down to pluck the sack from the ground and thrusts it into Genji’s arms.

 

Genji takes it without complaint, throwing it over one shoulder and using his free hand to ruffle Hanzo’s hair back out of place. “Sure thing, I’ll go put on my three-piece business suit and go conduct some business things. Do some paperwork. Maybe some taxes.” he says, waggling an eyebrow.

 

Hanzo groans in response, grasping Genji by the shoulders and forcibly turning him around. He plants his hands on Genji’s back and gives an abrupt push in the direction of the kitchen. “Only you could fail a simple request so quickly.” he chides, attempting a certain severity in his voice that’s immediately contradicted by the arm he easily wraps around Genji’s shoulders as they walk.  “Now come. We’ll freeze the meat, and I’ll  _ finally  _ re-dye that hideous hair of yours.” he says, running a hand through Genji’s half-dyed hair to prove his point.

  
  


\---

 

Genji sits quietly as Hanzo’s fingers run through his hair, the crinkle of plastic reverberating off of the tile walls. The chemical stench of the bleach burns his nostrils, and he slowly opens his eyes at the discomfort of it. Through the haze of steam surrounding them, his eyes immediately focus on the glint of his metallic legs. They’re almost easy to forget about throughout the day; with just himself and Hanzo, it’s hard to remember they aren’t normal. He leans back gently, resting his arms against the matching steel of his brother’s legs. He hears Hanzo chuckle low in his throat, briefly pulling his hands away from Genji’s head.

 

“Don’t be impatient, I’m almost done.” he mutters, hands returning to his work. Genji returns the chuckle, craning his head to look up at his brother.

 

“Not being impatient, just thinking.” he mutters, leaning his head back to rest against Hanzo’s chest. A sharp hiss and a flick to his ear stop him before he makes contact;  _ right, bleach _ . He hears Hanzo breathe a sigh of relief when he sits back up.

 

“That’s a first.” Hanzo returns after a beat, hands returning to Genji’s head and rubbing in more of the bleach.

 

“You’re mean.” Genji says with a grunt, hands idly gripping each of Hanzo’s metal knees and running his thumbs over the sleek surface.

 

Hanzo returns the sentiment with a soft chuckle. “What, praytell, were you thinking of this time?” he asks.

 

“My augments.” he says, extending one of his legs to emphasize the point. It’s an almost imperceptible change, but he can feel Hanzo stiffen just enough to know the duress he’s immediately caused his brother.

 

Hanzo, unlike him, has solid memories of their life before the bombs. Genji has brief flashes--sunlight streaming through the gaps of the cherry blossom petals, his father’s laugh as he sat on his knee, gentle music wafting on a summer breeze--but nothing solid. Hanzo has names, and events.He has stories and feelings.

 

Hanzo knows how they both lost their limbs. Genji doesn’t.

  
  


It burns inside the pit of his stomach some nights, knowing that Hanzo won’t tell him. All Genji knows of how he lost his legs and an arm is that it happened at the very beginning of the end--the day after the bombs fell. The day the ferals turned. 

 

Hanzo had lost his years later, after he’d learned how to construct new parts for Genji from a kind engineer who had lived with them for a few years. Genji could still recall the seemingly endless fear and dread as he searched for Hanzo for two weeks, only for his brother to simply stride through the gates some time later with metal legs to match his own. He had been so wracked with overwhelming joy that he barely even listened to Hanzo explain how he had stepped on a mine and been forced to amputate the stumps of his legs and jury-rig a set of legs to make it back. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered, as long as he had Hanzo.

 

“Think we could convince the omnics we’re one of them and go live nice and cushy in Tokyo?” he whispers, laughing when Hanzo immediately jostles him between his legs.

 

“Idiot.” Hanzo mutters, but there’s no bite to his words, and Genji can feel Hanzo relax behind him. Hanzo leans forward, pulling Genji’s head back far enough to kiss the tip of his nose

 

Genji smiles in return, eyes slipping shut and falling silent, letting Hanzo return to his work. He knows that one day, Hanzo will tell him what happened.

 

When he’s ready.

  
  


\-----

  
  
  


“What do you think?”

 

“Awful, as always”

 

Genji only beams at his brother’s adamant refusal to admit how great his hair looks when newly dyed. Just because  _ he’s _ content to give into the post-apocalyptic, bare-bones, survival-only couture doesn’t mean Genji has to. He strikes a full-bodied pose to show it off, earning him a roll of Hanzo’s eyes.

 

When he’s done, he grunts as he makes his way up the hill, dry grass cracking beneath his feet. They’re just outside the walls of Hanamura castle, on a lone hill overlooking the rest of the city.

 

As he flops less-than gracefully into Hanzo’s lap (and promptly ignores the words of disapproval Hanzo offers him), he lets his eyes rove over the sprawling landscape. A darkness looms over the city, engulfing buildings that once erupted with enough light to swallow the entire night. He tries to imagine how it might have looked back then. He’s seen enough movies to know what cities are supposed to look like; everything so alive and thrumming with light and the sounds of busses and cars permeating the hollow emptiness, invigorating the city with a new life.

 

All he sees before him now is the ever-lingering dark stalking the city.

 

He lets his eyes fall shut.

 

“I’m cold.” he whispers, pushing himself back into Hanzo’s chest, and giving a soft noise of approval when Hanzo gently wraps his arms around him. He lets himself imagine what it would be like, sitting here in Hanzo’s arms, bathed in a blanket of artificial lights and sounds. He thinks about Hanzo humming him their mother’s song without the tinge of sadness underlying it.

 

When he opens his eyes to see the city silhouetted in a silvery veil of moonlight, and feels the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest, he decides that none of that--the lights, the sounds, the life--really matter.

  
  


\-----

  
  


It’s never pleasant, waking up to Hanzo extracting himself from his hold. He gripes and moans, and attempts to hold his brother closer to his chest, but Hanzo needs only kiss that  _ one spot _ on his neck to weaken his hold long enough for Hanzo to escape.

 

He watches with one open eye as Hanzo dresses, uttering a weak wolf-whistle when Hanzo strips out of his underwear and puts on a new pair. Hanzo rolls his eyes and finishes with his task. He’s slinging his bow over his shoulder by the time Genji finally sits up, one side of his robe slipping off of his shoulder. Hanzo moves back to the bed, placing a soft kis to Genji’s forehead and fixing his robe for him. It’s the same promises as he always gives ‘stay safe, I’ll be back before sundown’, that Genji hardly pays attention to. He nods, shifting his head to kiss at Hanzo’s jawbone and saying his goodbyes.

 

As soon as Hanzo leaves the room, he easily slips back into the confines of his blankets and falls back asleep.

 

It’s just before noon when he finally wakes again, kicking his way out of the sheets and slipping out of the bed. He rarely puts much thought into his outfits--hardened leathers and pieces of armor. He pulls them on with relative ease, well-used to the process. He’ll get his weapons, crawl out the back exit, and go scour through the old shopping district again.

 

His shoulders jolt when the oppressive, bellowing sound of the castle’s bell clang out over the courtyard. He stands up too quickly, wincing when his head hits the top of the open doorway. He has neither the time nor luxury to focus on the pain; without even consciously making a plan, he’s up and running towards the front doors of Shimada castle.

 

It can’t be Hanzo--Hanzo would just climb in. Momo? One of the survivors? He just barely manage to silence his footfalls when he draws close to the front courtyard. He’s quiet when he clambers up the wall, coming to a crouch on the high flooring of the gate’s only window. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, leaning ever forward.  _ Not raiders. Not raiders. Even a stray group of ferals accidentally pulling on the rope-- _

  
  


_ \-- _ The omnic and his human hadn’t been a consideration.

 

They are, somehow, even more ridiculous up close. The human looks as if he’s torn his way directly off of an old Hollywood movie poster. The omnic is holding his hands in  _ actual  _ mudra and bobbing up and down in the air.

 

_ Alright _ , he decides,  _ they get a chance. They’ve amused me. _

 

He brings a thumb and forefinger to his lips and gives a soft whistle. The human jolts, one hand tearing a revolver from its holster and immediately aiming it Genji’s way.

 

He tenses--within a split-second, the human had lined up a perfect headshot on him. His eyes briefly widen before settling back into a neutral, eyes going from the barrel of the gun and meeting the human’s with a bored raise of his brow. He moves forward to sit properly on the wall, legs dangling over the edge.

 

“What do you want?” he asks evenly.

 

The human is still watching him; Genji is well aware when he’s being judged for whether or not he’s a threat. He fans his hands wide to show that he isn’t armed.

 

“Ah, greetings--!”

 

“I’m not talking to you, robot.” Genji interjects, without even glancing at the omnic.

 

A pointed silence falls between them, before the human eventually glances between the two.

 

“Wait, what’s the weirdo saying?” he finally whispers, attention back on the omnic. 

 

Genji closes his eyes.

 

_ English _ .

 

He’d done his best to learn the language (largely to be able to watch all of the movies he’d picked up over the years), but he’d struggled in conversations with the handful of people he’d met who  _ did _ speak it.

 

“You don’t know Japanese, Cowman?” Genji asks, knowing how thick his accent must be. 

 

At least he isn’t in  _ Japan _ , ringing on someone’s doorbell without knowing  _ Japanese _ .

 

He doesn’t bother to hide the delighted smirk at the surprised flush of the human’s cheeks.

 

The man clears his throat and lowers his gun, bringing it back to his holster. He nods his head in greeting, his hand going to tip the brim of his hat.

 

“Unfortunately, no. Looks like you have a leg up on me there, partner.”

 

_ A leg up on what?  _

 

He nods, decides it better that the human doesn’t know how perplexed the sentence made him, and folds his arms.

 

“Then you aren’t from around here. _ ”  _ he states.

 

The human looks uncertainly to the omnic, thumbs hooking into the top of his belt. “Nope. I’m originally from America, myself. And my buddy here is from Nepal.”

  
  


Ah. Was that what this was?

  
  


He knew people who had come to and left Japan in search of something  _ better _ ; had even helped a couple prepare a boat to try their luck in Korea. It never mattered. Any part of the world that hadn’t been consumed in nuclear hellfire, the omnics had taken for themselves. 

 

Which, he assumed,  _ this _ omnic had to know.

 

He didn’t know if ‘lucky’ was the word he would use to describe  _ just _ how hard Hanamura had been hit during the bombings, but it had kept most of the omnics away from trying to stake a claim in it.

 

“Well,  _ cowman _ , allow me to show you the sights.” he said. One arm moves in an over-exaggerated, sweeping motion to his right. “ _ Here _ we have rubble.” His left arm sweeps to the adjacent side, “ _ Here _ we have ruins.”

 

He leans forward, resting one forearm against his knees. “So tell your omnic master there is nothing here for him. Nothing but bullets.” The underlying threat strikes through his voice, suggestive and loaded. 

 

The human steps forward, one hand raised defensively. “Now now, no need to come to such hostilities. Why don’t we start over, huh? Introduce ourselves nice and proper.” he says, moving his hand to motion towards his chest. “Name’s Jesse McCree, and this here’s Z--”

 

“I do not care about the toaster, do not bother.” Genji says. “ _ You _ may call me Genji.”

 

He loves the plaintive discomfort on the human’s face--the sideways look he shoots to the omnic, as if silently asking whether he’s okay with it. He turns his own smirk on the omnic, but it falls when all the omnic bothers to do is nod and raise his hand to assent his lack of anger.

 

_ You’ll break, bot _ .

 

“Well, kindly met, Genji. Do you live here?”

 

“Why does that matter, Cowman?”

 

Jesse chuckles, raising a hand to rub against the back of his neck. Bashful? Discomfort?

 

“ ‘Fore we get any further, I uh...think the word you’re lookin’ for is ‘cowboy’.”

 

A flame of indignity licks up his spine. Was the  _ American _ who’d willingly come to  _ Japan _ without knowing a single piece of  _ Japanese _ going to try and correct his English?

 

“Cowbaby. Answer the question.”

 

Jesse gives an actual laugh, hands again hooking into his belt loops.

 

Genji leans forward at the action, eyes squinting when he realizes that the human’s belt buckle has letters on it. B...a, m, f?

 

_ What the fuck. _

 

He isn’t given long to ponder over the collection of letters. “See, we’re here lookin’ for someone. Someone real important to us.”

 

Genji looks back to Jesse’s eyes, giving a nod. “I know everyone here. I can point you the right way.”

 

It’ll get them out of his hair, anyways.

 

“No kiddin’? Well see, we’re here collectin’ a debt long overdue. We’re hopin’ our man’s still around.”

 

He steps further still, one hand on his hip.

  
“Lookin’ for a Hanzo Shimada. Last I hear, this is his home. So either you’re squattin' ...or you and I got a mutual friend, and a nice long conversation ahead of us.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiii sorry I'm alive I swear. s/o again to the SO for yelling at me to finish this beast of a chapter that was supposed to be 2 but I couldn't find a good place to break it.
> 
> Warning for slight dubcon at the end of the chapter? These boys aren't in a good headspace right now.

It’s rare that Genji uses the radio to get into contact with Hanzo; rare enough that he can hear Hanzo’s apprehension on the other end when he responds.

 

“ _ Genji? What’s wrong?” _

 

Genji chuckles softly before he presses the button to respond--at least Hanzo knows him well enough to know that something must be wrong within seconds of contacting him. “There are two people here to see you. They asked for you by name.” He says into the receiver, eyeing the human and omnic from a distance. He’d let them into the courtyard, but kept an ever-present eye on them. Seeing the  _ omnic _ , floating around freely in his parents’ courtyard…

 

“ _ And? Plenty of people know my name.” _

 

Genji takes a long breath, rolls his eyes, and bumps his thumb against the button. “They know our last name. And said you owed them a debt.”

 

Genji isn’t surprised when a long silence spreads between them. Plenty of people knew their names, it was true--few, if any, knew the name ‘Shimada’. They had learned the hard way that many people blamed the Shimada family--perched nice and pretty on top of the mountain acting as a silent vigil for the city--for doing nothing to save humanity from the bombs. Blamed, hated, and vengeful against.

 

He had been inconsolable for days with what they had been forced to do in self-defense to those people.

 

Eventually, he hears the crackle and static of radio feed. “ _ Genji. This is very important, do you see any emblems on them?” _

 

Genji purses his lips at the question. Why did that matter? He shook his head, craning his head to one side and observing them.

 

“No, I don’t think so. The human is missing an arm, though. The only one I have.” he chuckles, leaning against one of the poles holding up the deck. “Between us we could make one full person.”

 

Hanzo’s response is immediate, “ _ This is not the time for jokes. Does the human have blonde hair?” _

 

It strikes Genji as odd; he only hears his brother give such flighty answers when he’s avoiding  _ something _ . He had half-expected--or, perhaps,  _ hoped _ \--that Hanzo would laugh, and say he owed them some money for something trivial.

 

No. This was something more. This was more of Hanzo’s adamant refusal to ever speak of the past. It made Genji’s skin crawl, as it did sometimes at night, knowing that Hanzo always left him in the dark. He always bit his tongue and nodded, unwilling to bring up such things if they only upset Hanzo...but now?

 

Now there was an omnic and a cowboy at their door, talking about a debt Genji didn’t know anything about. A lick of anger trails up his spine. “Perhaps. What is this debt they’re talking about?” he says. He hates lying to Hanzo, even if it’s in half-truths, and he feels the discomfort of it crawl over his skin.

 

“ _ Genji, please answer the question _ .”

 

Genji glares at the blank, dark face of the receiver. “No, answer  _ my  _ question for once, Hanzo. Why are there men here talking about a debt I’ve never heard about?!” he says, raising his voice more than he’d meant to. The cowboy and omnic turn to him, the man’s eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. Genji returns a glare in their a direction and looks back towards the door.

 

_ Mind your fucking business _ .

 

The radio crackles again, but a silence follows. “... _ I’m heading home, Genji. Keep them occupied until I get there.” _

 

His hands tense around the radio, and with a sharp breath, he pockets it. Deep-seeded fury courses through him. Of course--more evasions, more subterfuge. Why would Hanzo think he deserves to know the truth? Why, when he would never be anything more than a frightened, innocent child in Hanzo’s eyes?

 

No matter how many ferals, raiders, and zealots he killed--no matter how many times he’d whimpered Hanzo’s name into his ear as he’d fucked the breath from his body.

 

“He’s on his way.” Genji says, stalking towards the two and doing his best to not betray his mood. He knows he’s doing a poor job of it when he sees Jesse’s eyes go to his closed fists. “I apologize for the wait.”

 

Jesse nods, lips pursed. With a grunt of exertion, the cowboy leans back, resting against the rock in the center of the sand garden. Genji thinks to tell him that the gesture would be considered disrespectful, but instead only takes a long breath.

 

Who cares. It’s a rock, and he can’t bring himself to be mad at the cowboy when Hanzo is in full possession of his ire.

 

“No worries, darlin’. I could use a break, anyways. We’ve been walkin’ for a while now.”

 

Genji lifts a brow pointedly. “Your toaster does not walk.”

 

He can see Jesse fight back a snicker, grasping the brim of his hat and tipping it for a moment to hide the smirk. “No, I suppose Zen doesn’t. Doesn’t make me any less tired.” He says, turning his gaze back on Genji.

 

Genji feels small under his eyes; there is something utterly duplicitous about the man that he can’t entirely place. 

 

 

He’s disarming. Or he is on a superficial level, seeming to exude a certain warmth and jovial charm; but he can easily tell that he’s under an intense amount of scrutiny underneath it all.

 

Dangerous. The sort of man who could charm a fish out of water.

 

“So, Genji, right?”

 

He nods.

 

“Genji. How do you know Hanzo?”

 

_ Brother? Boyfriend? Which this time? _

 

“Hanzo is my brother.” He settles on. A safer option.

 

Jesse looks him over, eyes lingering on his hair.

 

He doesn’t ask.

 

“Makes sense, I suppose.” He says. He extends the tip of his tongue to wet his bottom lip, eyes roaming over Genji’s face. “But I’m gonna level with you. We weren’t expectin’ to find anything here but bones. Hell, how old was Hanzo when he made that deal, Zen? Just a pup, right?” He says.

 

Genji hangs off of every word--those he understands, at least. If there’s a chance he can glimpse any truth from this man...well, it’s more than he’ll have ever gotten from Hanzo. “What was the deal?” He says, more breathlessly than he’d hoped to expose.

 

Jesse gives an over-emphasized shrug, flourishing with his mechanical hand. “Hell if I know. Bossman was positive your kin’d be dead by now. Said if the guy was miraculously alive, we’d just have to remind him of our deal and we’d be set, though.”

 

“And you didn’t ask?”

 

A chuckle, “Bet your ass I did. I don’t like goin’ anywhere without knowing everything I need to. But it sounds like your brother swore him to secrecy. All I know on the matter.” 

 

It’s almost imperceptible, the way the man’s mouth slides into a drawn-out smile. “Sounds like all you know too, huh?” He tuts, shaking his head in the sort of chastising way the makes Genji want to sucker-punch that grin right off of him. “Right shame, aint it? And from your own kin.”

 

Genji groans, head craning back and motioning towards Jesse. “ _ Cowbaby _ , can you speak in plain English? Is that beyond you?”

 

Were Hanzo here, he knows how quickly his ears would have been boxed for speaking in such a way to a stranger.

 

But Hanzo  _ isn’t _ here, and the cowboy is picking away at his last shred of patience.

 

The man at least has the decency to look embarrassed.

 

“That  _ is _ one of the reasons Zen’s here. He could translate for me, if you prefer.”

 

Genji laughs without waiting a beat, “I’m not going to talk to your fuck--where is your  _ FUCKING TOASTER?”  _ He says, voice growing to a shout. He hadn’t bothered focusing on the omnic, assuming the thing would still just be floating pointlessly behind him as they spoke; now it was missing. 

 

He reels around, looking over the courtyard in a broad, visual sweep, and stopping when he spots the metallic garbage floating near the only living cherry blossom tree in their garden.

 

He dashes away from the cowboy in a dead sprint. “Hey!” he shouts, bounding over the threshold separating the courtyard from the garden. “Don’t touch that!”

 

He comes skidding to a stop, grasping the omnic by the arm and tearing him away from the tree.

 

The fact that the omnic gives a soft  _ gasp _ drives a swell of rage through his chest.

 

“Apologies.” The omnic says, not bothering to pull his arm free of Genji’s hold. “I would never harm such a beautiful being. I only meant to inspect it--you must have cared for it well, for such beauty to still exist here.”

 

Genji can feel the physical pain form between his brows, scowling as darkly as he can at the robot. It’s speaking in Japanese, and that very courtesy grants it even more of his ire. 

 

“Oh? Surprised or disappointed that your handiwork didn’t quite get  _ everything? _ ” He spits, fingers gripping against the steel arm. He doesn’t know if omnics actually felt pain--but he can  _ hope _ .

 

“Now partner, I’m gonna have to ask you to unhand my friend there.”

 

Genji turns his glare on the cowboy. It drops when he notices the man’s hand resting against the holster of his gun. The threat is blatant, but McCree emphasizes it by nodding at the omnic. “What say you we keep this civil, and I’ll pretend I didn’t just see you manhandling my buddy. We go back to havin’ a nice conversation.”

 

Genji squeezes one last time--a final warning--and pulls his hand away, holding it defensively over his head. “Tell your  _ buddy _ to keep his hands to himself, then.”

 

“I uh...I mean, he can hear you. You just told him yourself.”

 

Genji shoots McCree a flat look.  _ Idiot _ .

 

“Yes, I am aware.” He says in a monotone, but relents the argument with a sigh. “Fine, you want to talk? What about?” He asks, folding his arms and leaning back against the tree. He can’t know how far out of the city Hanzo is, but knows it can’t be less than an hour.

 

He might as well entertain himself with the American until he does.

 

The man seems to consider the question, lifting his normal hand to his jaw and scratching at a patch of stubble. “How about how you survived this long, just the two o’ you?” he asks. “I had a helluva time of it, and I had a whole gang lookin’ out for each other back then.”

 

A gang? He sucks in his bottom lip, considers the man. From his experience, ‘gang’ held the loose connotation of ‘raiders’. America, from what he’d caught in stray radio broadcasts and stories from vagabonds, had been hit particularly hard with groups of raider gangs prowling the roads.

 

The thought that Hanzo might have made a deal with raiders makes his stomach lunge with a sudden nausea.

 

“Back then? It sounds as though  _ you _ have a story to tell, too.” he says, folding his arms.

 

McCree chuckles, checking behind him before taking a seat on the patio. “Doesn’t everyone? Don’t mind goin first, though, if that’s what you want.” 

 

Genji’s nod earns him another chuckle.

 

“Sure thing, darlin’. Where do I start?” He questions, scratching the corner of his jaw. “Must’ve been six, maybe seven when the Deadlock picked me up? Right after the bombs and all. Mom and pop didn’t make it; way I hear it, they were out gettin’ sloshed when it happened. Don’t know what happened to ‘em. Either dead or mutants, far as I can figure.”

 

_ Mutants. _ Genji fails to stifle a derisive laugh.  _ What a childish thing to call them _ .

 

McCree flashes him a glance. “Mutants, zombies, whatever you prefer. Don’t matter much at the end of the day when you’re puttin’ a bullet in their brains.”

 

Genji nods, relents the point.

 

“What was I sayin’?” He purses his lips, nods, “Yeah. Deadlock found me with my tail between my legs hiding out back home, scooped me up, and put me to work. Gave me a safe haven and a fun enough life for a kid. Didn’t really start seeing the ugly side of what it took to survive for a couple of years. Then they started puttin’ me on real jobs. Guess they finally decided I was old enough to send on the ‘scavenging’ missions. ‘Cept ‘scavenging’ was a fancy word for lootin’ and embezzlin’ normal folk. People just trying to live another day.”

 

The cowboy takes a long breath, and Genji can easily see that he’s being stared through. Wherever the man’s focus is, it isn’t on him anymore. 

 

 

“But in those days, it weren’t just stealin when you took someone’s stuff. It was as much of a death sentence as slittin’ their throats on the spot. Would of been more of a kindness that way, too.”

 

There’s a brief, weighted pause as the implications hang over them. McCree’s focus goes to his hands. Genji wonders what it is he sees in them.

 

“But I was still a kid. Thought I just had to keep these thoughts to myself. Hell, I can guarantee you they would’ve killed me on the spot for tryin’ to spread dissension. Still...never sat right with me. Then they started takin’ in people, expandin’ their compound. ‘Cept it weren’t some nice, familial community. They were slaves. Thirteen years old, and I was a murderer and slaver. Came to a point where I couldn’t live with it anymore.”

 

Genji isn’t entirely prepared for McCree’s eyes to lock with his again, utterly present and focused. 

 

“Was plannin’ on making a run for it, but a better option came ‘round. Overwatch came down on the whole operation and I joined up with ‘em.” He chuckles, resting one cheek against his hand. “Shoulda heard the things the Deadlock called me. Traitor, bastard, kin-killer… ‘bout everything you could think of. Felt pretty damn good--hell, still does, knowin’ those bastards are six feet under.”

 

_ Overwatch _ .

 

Genji’s eyes widen at the word. He forces himself to level his expression, swallowing around a tightness in his throat.

 

He knew the word--everyone did. Overwatch, the mighty group of soldiers who were supposed to save the world from the omnics. 

 

Maybe they would have; maybe that was why the omnics let loose their nuclear hellfire as soon as the group gained momentum. He still saw the recruitment posters, soiled and torn from years of abandonment, lingering on decrepit walls where survivors could scoff at them. Sometimes he would look at them and imagine a world where they had been the great saviors of humanity--a world where he could have joined them.

 

“You're with Overwatch?” He asks, breathy and awed around the constriction of his chest.

 

McCree’s eyes shoot to Zenyatta, sucking in his lips.

 

He wasn’t supposed to say that, Genji realizes.

 

He takes a step forward, pushing off of the tree. “Did Hanzo make a deal with Overwatch?”

 

McCree’s looks between Zenyatta and Genji, a quiet ‘uuuuh’ filling the silence. In the face of Genji’s unrelenting determination and Zenyatta’s soft chuckle wafting from the background, he groans. “Right on both counts. Guess you were bound to figure it out anyways.” he says, leaning back against both palms. “ ‘Fore you go gettin all excited about it, I can’t say anythin’ more. Not ‘till your brother shows up and we work everything out.” He says. Genji scoffs; it’s the same, bargaining tone he’s used to from Hanzo.

 

“Fine.” He says, holding up his hands to relent the discussion. “I’ll wait.”

 

 

“Now, Sherlock fuckin’ Holmes, let’s hear your story.”

 

 

Genji looks the cowboy over, scratching at the side of his nose. Now, which truth did  _ Jesse McCree _ get?

 

 

\---------------

 

Somehow, the retelling always takes longer than he expects. How did two children make it on their own? They didn’t--not entirely. They had the man who built Genji’s robotic parts for a couple of years, and after that? Could they really say they were on their own when they had a stockpile of supplies from their family? The Shimada castle was, after all, stocked to host any number of people at any given time. 

 

The only thing they’d been lacking had been any artillery power, and they’d made up for that by learning traditional weapons.

 

What did he remember from his childhood? His earliest memories were comprised of hiding silently in the underground bowels of their home; Hanzo, holding him close and cementing his hand over Genji’s own mouth to silence his wails when the scouting omnics scoured their home. Crawling out of the darkness weeks later to a world bathed in fire and gore. He remembers crying, and Hanzo shouldering their burdens silently. Weeks where Hanzo wouldn’t speak a word to him that wasn’t a direct order. Cold, distant--he couldn’t have known back then what disassociating was, or even expected that his perfect brother had been suffering so deeply.

 

He leaves out the mention of the nights Hanzo has clung to him, body doubled over and unnaturally stiff, heaving with dry sobs and quietly muttering that Genji had saved his life back then; that he would never have had the will to keep going if Genji hadn’t been relying on him.

 

He does mention the discomfort of growing up with robotic parts. The itch of outgrowing them and needing to wait for more parts to be built. How the early ones would just fall off sometimes, as if his body was rejecting them. Jesse laughs, and admits that he’s had nightmares of his falling off; says he’ll blame Genji if he starts getting them again.

 

McCree doesn’t really show interest until Genji mentions his and Hanzo’s trips through the country, looking to help survivors and set up supply lines. He doesn’t comment on it, but Genji can see the quirk of his brow admit his interest louder than any words.

 

They share trivial stories; people they’ve helped, people they’ve slept with, mutated creatures they’ve fought. Omnics they’ve had to put down. He can sense McCree’s discomfort, but the stupid omnic does nothing more that float quietly beside them, listening to them talk. Or maybe he’s put himself into a sleep mode. Hopefully.

 

He’s in the midst of a fit of laughter from Jesse’s story about stumbling into a den of ferals when he hears it; an almost silent, imperceptible unsettling of sand. He holds up a finger to McCree and moves over a handful of steps, peering into the courtyard they’d come from.

 

_ Hanzo _ .

 

“That him?” McCree asks, leaned over at his side. The brim of his hat knocks against Genji’s cheek; he steps away from the cowboy’s proximity.

 

“Yes.” He whispers, an unease placed firmly in his gut.

 

Hanzo is unreadable; a mask of indifference as he approaches. Genji feels a knot of shame; how Hanzo carries an air of regality with grace in every step. He is a force of power, in complete control of the situation without having to say a word.

 

_ Oh _ . Hanzo is looking at him. Waiting for an introduction.

 

“Ah, brother, this is Jesse McCree.” he says in English, granting him the slightest quirk of a brow from Hanzo.

 

A silence falls between them.

 

“...And the omnic,  _ Genji? _ ” he asks, impertinent. Annoyed.

 

Genji doesn’t bother to hide his gape, head cocked to one side.

 

“My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Shimada-san.”

 

The omnic’s Japanese is flawless.

 

Genji vividly imagines pushing the scrap metal off the nearby cliff.

 

“Why do you care what his name is?” Genji asks, eyes scrunched together as he takes a step closer to Hanzo.

 

Hanzo’s eyes widen and his nose flares; all tell-tale signs that he is trying to maintain his poise. “ _ Genji.” _ he hisses--a warning.

 

Genji scoffs; Hanzo wants to act dignified? And for  _ him _ to do the same? 

 

_ Fuck _ his proper manners. 

 

He’d hid this deal from him along with every other goddamn thing about their past, and now wanted him to play nice with an omnic?

 

“ _ Hanzo” _ , He bites back, folding his arms. “Last I checked, we shoot omnics on sight.”

 

Hanzo clenches and unclenches his fists.  _ Good, get mad. _

 

“There is a difference between those  _ invading _ our home, and ones who are guests.” Hanzo’s voice is level, and Genji despises it.

 

He wants Hanzo riled up; wants him to lose that  _ pristine _ composure in front of these men he owes something to.

 

“And why  _ is _ this omnic a guest to our home,  _ Anija? _ ” He asks in a childish lilt, leaning forward and pushing the boundaries of Hanzo’s personal space. “What’s this deal he’s talking about?”

 

“Genji, I will explain  _ later _ . Leave us.”

 

He’s close to snapping; Genji can hear it in the falter of his voice.

 

He barks with laughter. “ _ Later.  _ It’s always  _ later _ . But there never  _ is _ a later, is there? You just hope I feel bad enough for you that I give up bringing it up again.” He snorts derisively. He’s being cruel; he knows he is, but the pang of unfiltered  _ pain _ that flickers across Hanzo’s face makes it worth it.

 

A terse pause hangs between them.

 

When Hanzo fails to respond, he scoffs.

 

He hadn’t expected anything more. He moves back, leaning closer to McCree and switching to English. “To keep you up to speed, my  _ brother _ is trying to get me to leave because he still doesn’t want me to know the truth.”

 

McCree pulls back enough to look him in the face, eyes darting to Hanzo. His lips pull back in the sheepish smile of someone caught betwixt bullet fire.

 

“Uh...huh. Well, Mr. Shimada, if it’s...your end of the deal you’re worried about us cashing in on, don’t worry. We aren’t planning to strip you of house and home and send you out to your deaths. Don’t think there’s any harm in talkin’ plans with your brother here. ‘Specially with it effectin’ both of you, and all.”

 

Hanzo’s tensing would be easy enough to miss for anyone that wasn’t Genji; Genji looks him over with a careful eye. He’s cornered--they both know it. 

 

“Very well. I know when I am outnumbered.” he says. The attempted humor makes Genji’s skin bristle; only Hanzo could still attempt to play the victim when made to answer for himself. “Many years ago, I made a deal with Overwatch. As you all know.”

 

_ Now. Now that I had to hear it from an American and an Omnic _ .

 

“I...had no other option, Genji. My end of the deal was to give their group all of the munitions and ammunition we had in our underground armory. As soon as Overwatch had fulfilled their end of the bargain, I let them in, and they took everything.”

 

Genji wets his lips. “Then why--”

 

He’s cut off by a look from Hanzo. His head hung, his older brother takes a long breath. Genji hates how, even through his anger, he still wants to brush Hanzo’s bangs out of his face and tell him to be strong.

 

“They are here now because they offered me a second deal. It was one I couldn’t refuse, and I promised them...our home, in turn.” 

 

He chuckles ruefully, standing back up straight and brushing his own bangs out of his face. “I must admit, I did not think your group still existed. Or...if they did, that they would have any interest in coming back to Japan to collect their debt.”

 

Genji feels the breath leave his lungs. Hanzo had promised them their  _ home _ . Everything they had worked 20 years to protect.

 

And he hadn’t even known.

 

“What is it you  _ do _ want then?” Hanzo asks, the wavering of his voice almost missable. “If you are not here to take our home. We have little resources to offer you. Enough to keep two people comfortable; not an army.”

 

McCree steps forward; the motion at his side reminds Genji that they aren’t alone. “Put it simple? Overwatch ‘s been lookin’ to set down roots in Japan for a while. ‘Cept for that, we need to work things out with the omnics in Tokyo. We recently recruited someone--guy had a map of Hanamura’s layout. And what do you know? We see a nice, underground passageway under the very home we’re owed, and where does it lead but Tokyo? Don’t it all just line up so nice and pretty?” he chuckles, shifting a shoulder and pulling a cigarillo from the brim of his hat. In one swift movement, the index finger of his robotic finger flicks back and, with a soft scraping noise, produces a flame to light it.

 

He takes a long breath of it, levelling his gaze on Hanzo. “Can’t say much more than that, I’m afraid. Confidential. We just need your passageway, boys. You let us set up operations in your home for maybe a month, and we’ll be out of your hair for good. Debt paid in full.”

 

Genji shares a look with Hanzo--knows the red flags have been immediately set off for him, as well.

 

“That is...not as easy a request to fill as you may think.” Hanzo says, mouth closed in a thin line. He sighs, “And even it were, I cannot agree to this without more information. Whatever you do in Tokyo will affect us here. If you fail, it will be  _ us _ the omnics come for, after you have already fled. I will not so readily sign this city’s death warrant without more to go on.” Hanzo declares, voice resolute as he folds his arms. 

 

“Not sure what to tell you, then. Like I said, I can’t say nothin’ more about the plan.” McCree, at least, seems used to these dealings. His calm composure at the refusal of his offer sets a shiver down Genji’s spinei. “But I reckon we can still work something out. We’re only here to scout out the tunnels before Overwatch comes over. Make sure nothin’s collapsed, right? You let us in there--with you supervisin’, of course-- and then we all go back to our base in China. You can meet the Bossman, he’ll fill you in on everything, and you lot can work out the details.” McCree moves his arm in a broad, sweeping gesture. “Sound fair?”

 

To Genji’s surprise, he finds Hanzo looking at him, silently asking for his input. The impudent need to ask why his opinion matters  _ now _ pricks at the back of his mind, but he bites down the bitter feelings.

 

“Perhaps we should just show them?” he whispers

 

Hanzo nods slowly. “Alright.” He mutters “You need to come with us..”

 

\-----

 

It takes thirty minutes to walk around the hill the castle sits upon. Jesse McCree spends the majority of those thirty minutes asking, aloud, why they can’t just use the passage directly under the castle.

 

When they come to the rusted iron door built into the ground, Hanzo lifts a hand to halt the group. “Here.” Is all he offers in explanation. He unlocks the heavy chain link surrounding the handles and grasps one side of the doors; Genji trots to the other and they pull them open in unison.

 

The sound of low groaning and anguished sobbing is immediate. McCree recoils, shaking his head. “Mutants?” he asks, a dark resonance in his hushed whisper.

 

“If that is what you like to call them.” Hanzo responds, placing his hands on the side of the entry and hopping onto the catwalk below. He extends a hand to help Genji and the American down, and uncertainly offers it to the omnic.

 

“I will keep watch out here.” he offers, shaking his head. “Cramped spaces and I do not get along well.”

 

“Good.” Genji mutters, ducking his head under some low piping and walking along the metal walkway. Behind him, he hears the high-pitched squeaking of the gate sliding shut. With a resounding click, they’re left in a darkness penetrated only by the abhorrent noises of the ferals.

 

Genji turns the eyepiece of his gas-mask until a dim light pours from a small slot on the side. He turns, opens his mouth to ask if everyone can see, and laughs when both of the men recoil from the light blaring into their eyes.

 

Whether it’s from the light or the noise, the shuffling and groaning increase in volume, followed by the loud clanging of bodies clamoring against the metal bars.

 

He keeps his face forward as he walks, silencing his footfalls as much as possible to keep an accurate gauge on how close the others are to him.

 

The noises grow louder as they continue, finally becoming nearly deafening in the enclosed space when they make it to a metal gate.

 

He looks back to the others, keeping his head downturned to avoid blinding them a second time. “Ready?” he asks.

 

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.” McCree mutters behind him. 

 

Genji hears the distinct noise of a gun being cocked.

 

The gate’s hinges screech from disuse and rust, but eventually swing open.

 

“No guardrails, be careful.” Genji whispers, stepping over the threshold and into the main tunnel system.

 

McCree gives a low whistle, stopping at Genji’s side.

 

“You weren’t kiddin’.”

 

The tunnels walls are surrounded by a thick layer of moss, with the decaying scent of mold permeable even through the filters of his mask. Genji moves his head, illuminating the visible section of tunnel below the catwalk in a slow, broad sweep. The ferals turn away from the broad light while unanimously shuffling towards it--a difficult feat, when they’re packed shoulder to shoulder as they are.

 

He looks to Hanzo as much as his peripheral vision will allow; his brother’s eyes are closed, and brows furrowed. 

 

Genji looks away quickly, focusing on the ferals below them.

 

“How many?” McCree’s voice is muffled by both his gasmask and the residual fear caught in his throat. One wrong step, and he’d be torn apart within seconds. Genji wonders if he’s just now realizing how quickly he and his brother could push him to his death.

 

“Thousands.” He responds.

 

A wry chuckle, “How in the  _ hell _ did these get in here? Isn’t it supposed to be a secret passageway?”

 

Genji takes a breath, wrapping his mind around how he’s supposed to explain this to the man.

 

Hanzo speaks before he can, “We brought them here.”

 

The silence that fills the room is damning enough.

 

“You did wh--” McCree cuts himself off with a sardonic laugh, “Why in the hell would you collect ‘em all together? You lose your goddamn collective minds?.” he says. It’s impossible to read his expression through the gas-mask and minimal lighting, but Genji can easily imagine.

 

Hanzo scoffs, turning to face McCree. “Use your mind for one moment, and you might understand. It keeps them off the street and away from anyone they might hurt.”

 

Genji sucks in a silent chestful of air.  _ Leave it at that, Hanzo, don’t mention-- _

 

“And it keeps them safe until someone finds a cure.”

 

Every time he says it with such conviction--such a raw honesty that Genji wants to believe him. Wants, more than anything, for the people he tells to not laugh in his face for it.

 

“Oh...shit.” McCree stops short, still looking over the ferals. “That’s...real noble of you, partner.”

 

_ Thank you, Cowbaby. _

 

McCree scratches the back of his head, allowing a few stray tresses of hair to fall from the rubber straps of his mask. “Sure muddles our plans though, huh?” He says, backing further against the wall.

 

Genji looks back to the ferals; they’re starting to climb one another, hands groping skywards and towards the intruders. It’s never easier, seeing their gaunt faces and cracked skin; never easier remembering that  _ these _ are the only remnants of the majority of humanity.

 

He flinches at the sharp sound of a wail, followed by the distinct sound of bones cracking as one of the ferals  is crushed beneath the feet of the others.

 

Then, silence. An encompassing, unsettling silence.

 

He brings his hands to cover his ears just in time to miss the brunt of the shrieking laughter that tears through and reverberates against the walls of the tunnel like a plowing storm.

 

He thinks, in these moments, that perhaps calling them ‘zombies’ isn’t entirely fair. Zombies from the movies and comic books he’d read were simple, braindead creatures fueled only be hunger.

 

These?

 

They laughed when they tore their victims apart. They laughed when one of their own was killed. Their thin, cracked lips pulled from ear to ear in a grin. Mocking. Fiendish.  _ Ravenous _ .

 

He closes his eyes, the noise blinding him in a spark of white behind closed lids.

 

There’s a hand on his arm pulling him backwards. He follows blindly, groping for the doorway with his free hand and slamming it shut behind him.

 

The profound discomfort and pain only fade when he sees Hanzo throwing open the doors and the sunlight spill over them.

 

They shut the door with a silent swiftness once they’ve clambered out, hands still shaking when he finally pulls away.

 

He takes a moment to catch his breath, hands placed firmly on his knees. Uncertain, ragged chestfuls of air as he struggles to find a rhythm to his breath. He wants to shut his eyes, to block it out and think of anything else, but the fear of seeing their faces again, of seeing those  _ smiles _ …

 

He forces himself to stand back up, and notices the American sitting some distance away, head held in his hands.

 

It’s as good of a distraction as any.

 

His gasmask comes off with one easy pull, flopping to the side as he unceremoniously drops down next to the man. He lets his fingers run through the blades of grass and weeds, dry as they are, they provide some relief.

 

Grounded. Stable. Safe.

 

He lays back, enjoys the feeling of the cold ground pressed against his sweat-matted neck.

 

Hanzo is speaking to the omnic somewhere behind them. The muffled voices are a small comfort to his burning nerves.

 

Everything feels too vivid. The wind too loud, the sun too excessive, his own heartbeat almost deafening.

 

He tenses when a hand grasps his shoulder. Too large for Hanzo’s.

 

He doesn’t push it off.

 

“Never any easier, is it?”

 

McCree’s voice is quiet; more gentle than Genji would have thought possible for a man like him.

 

“That goddamn laughter. Doubt I’ve ever gotten a good nights’ rest since I first heard it.”

 

Genji can just detect the slightest tremor in the man’s hand. “Shit, sometimes I don’t even think they hunt us down for the meat.” He says, one thumb running a circle into Genji’s shoulder. “Look at the ones you have in there. Still alive after years without food.”

 

It’s difficult to breathe. He knows what McCree is thinking; knows, from years of thinking the same.

 

“You mean they kill us for fun.” He says. It isn’t a question.

 

McCree sucks in a chestful of air, releasing it with loud sigh. “Yeah. The eatin’s just a nice little treat, way I see it.”

 

Genji can’t find the words to argue against him--knows he wouldn’t be able to say them with any conviction, even if he did.

 

“I don’t know.” He says, sitting up suddenly and finding a relief in the lack of physical contact. “But don’t mention these thoughts to Hanzo.”

 

His voice is hard; a demand he won’t argue.

 

McCree looks up at him for a moment, before pulling his lips into a half-smile. “Sure thing.”

 

He’s tactful enough to stand up and turn to the others, cupping a hand around his mouth. “You two ready to hightail it out of here? We can talk more when we’re safe in your home.”

 

 

\-----

 

The walk is blessedly silent; one that is broken the moment they close the main gates behind them.

 

“Well, this is a bitch of a situation.”

 

Genji locks eyes with Hanzo, one eyebrow raised. Hanzo meets it with a shrug.

 

Odd grammar aside, the tone was obviously one of displeasure.

 

They wordlessly hang up their gasmasks; waiting for McCree to continue.

 

The man looks them over, before a grin cracks over his face, “C’mon now, not mad at you boys. Just...throws a wrench into my boss’ plan, is all.” he says, reaching a hand out to clap Hanzo on the shoulder.

 

The look of indignance on his brother’s face forces Genji to bite down a laugh.

 

“Our plan’s still the same. Why don’t we rest up here for the night, and head out first thing in the mornin’?”

 

A voice of reason.

 

“I’ll go prepare your rooms.” Hanzo says, pushing past him and walking too quickly for Genji to not understand that his brother is still trying to avoid him.

 

“Hold on, partner, ‘fore you go and we get all settled in, I’ve been meanin’ to ask something.” McCree mentions, reaching out a hand to stop Hanzo. Hanzo steps away from it, but stops all the same. He looks from the man’s hand to his face, and eventually nods.

 

“What is it you traded for all of this, Mr. Shimada? Everything you coulda used to protect yourself, your whole damn home? Seems like a steep price to pay.”

 

Genji can see the horror wash over Hanzo; the way his body flinches and pulls in on itself.

 

“I apologize, Mr. McCree--”

 

Jesse cuts him off with a swift motion, “ _ Just _ McCree’ll do fine.”

 

Hanzo makes a concentrated effort to not sigh. “ _ McCree _ . My reasons are my own. I appreciate your understanding--”

 

Genji interjects with a scoff, “You  _ still _ won’t explain?  _ Why? _ ” he hisses, arms folded. Unrelenting.

 

Hanzo meets his stare. “ _ Not now _ , Genji.” he bites back.

 

“Then when?” he asks, voice lacking any of the power needed to be a demand. It’s weak--too weary to be anything other than the silent plea that it is.

 

He knows the answer. He knows it, but allows himself the slightest flicked of hope.

 

Hanzo manages the first syllable. Genji hears the ‘L’, and clenches his fist. “Later, I know.”

 

He makes a show of pushing past Hanzo, shoulder-checking him enough for it to hurt.

 

He stops just long enough to turn a rueful smile on McCree. “Good night, McCree.”

 

The smile falters with a short glance to Zenyatta. “Toaster.” he mutters, turning on his heel and stalking to his room.

 

_ Their _ room.

 

_ Hanzo’s _ .

 

 

\---------------

 

He’s already on edge; the entire room reeks of Hanzo. The wafting aroma of bar soap, the pristine, polished surfaces, the single painting of two cranes serving as the only decoration. Hanzo is surrounding him. He rams his eyes shut, but it’s inescapable--his head reels, he plants his feet firmly on the floor and leans against the desk.

 

“ _ Genji.” _

 

He breathes sharply, eyes forced open and finding Hanzo’s locked on his, the man placed firmly in the entryway. 

 

“Hanzo.”

 

His voice isn’t as even as he wants it to be.

 

“You took care of McCree?”

 

Hanzo barely nods, motionless and imposing as he waits. Genji knows what he’s waiting for--hates that Hanzo knows him this well in these moments.

 

They’ve fought before; frequently enough that they had it down to a familiar song-and-dance. Hanzo was too hot-headed, and Genji took too much pleasure in riling him up. They never lasted, or did more damage than a few bruises and hurt feelings.

 

Not this time. Genji feels the palpable discomfort settle around them in the form of silence; lavishes it, and enjoys any bit of agony it might bring Hanzo.

 

“I have no desire to be coy. Speak your mind.” Hanzo says.

 

He scoffs-- _ unbelievable. _ “Oh? Now I can speak my mind? I have your permission,  _ brother _ ?”

 

Hanzo rolls his eyes, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Don’t be a  _ child _ .” he hisses.

 

It’s all Genji needs to abandon any veneer of civil discussion.

 

He laughs, loud and facetious, closing the distance between them with a handful of steps. “That’s what it comes down to, right?” he bites, planting himself firmly in front of Hanzo. 

 

Hanzo doesn’t relent--never relents. He stands firm, scowling without offering any visible reactions.

 

Genji runs his tongue along his lower lip. He doesn’t want to talk; all Hanzo has are excuses and cruel wit. How long was he supposed to bear the brunt of both? It makes his lungs ache with each breath, looking at Hanzo like this; knowing that this is the person he loves more than any other, but unable to feel any semblance of that affection in the moment. How could he, when Hanzo would never see him as his equal?

 

His partner?

 

“You think I’m a child. So you justify it to yourself that I can’t handle anything, right?”

 

Genji thinks he sees a flash of something cross Hanzo’s eyes, but it’s impossible to tell. Hanzo has shut down--always shuts down when it comes to an altercation. He cuts himself off from his attachments, in his words, ‘to think rationally and logically’

 

Genji shakes his head; it isn’t the truth. Another lie he’s allowed Hanzo to get away with.

 

Hanzo doesn’t want to be hurt again.

 

“You’re certainly  _ acting _ the part of one now.” Hanzo retorts.

 

Cold. Stoic. Unattached.

 

Words won’t reach him, but Genji has never been able to stop himself from trying. “Listen to yourself! I’ve waited  _ twenty _ years for you to tell me the truth, and now that it’s here--” he says, arm thrown back and motioning towards the interior of the castle, “--At our doorstep, you’re still trying to avoid it.  _ Why? _ ”

 

He can feel his fingernails biting into the soft flesh of his palm, the skin on his knuckles going white from the concentrated effort it took to not hit Hanzo.

 

Hanzo doesn’t notice--or, perhaps, doesn’t care--and simply turns away from Genji, walking into the interior of the room.

 

“I’ve made my decision. I will go with the Overwatch members tomorrow to speak to their leader, and you will remain here.” he says, voice level. He deftly undoes the ribbon holding his hair in place, as if he were simply getting ready for bed. “You’ve proven you can’t behave respectably, and I won’t have you tarnish our discussions.”

 

Genji scoffs, lips pulled back in an incredulous grimace. “No.  _ No, fuck you _ .” he hisses, again closing the distance between them. He grasps Hanzo by the shoulder, pulling harder than necessary to force his brother’s attention. “You don’t get to sit here and try to punish me to cover your own ass.” he hisses. “If you won’t tell me,  _ they will _ .”

 

Hanzo glares, grasping Genji by the wrist and tearing his hand off. “ _ I _ am the one they need to talk to. You have no reason to go.”

 

Genji hates this part of Hanzo--the part that doesn’t even feel human. The part that feels like a soulless automaton plowing towards its own ends without regard for anyone else.

 

“You gave away  _ all _ of our firepower, our house, and I have  _ no reason to go?” _ he asks, leaning forward into Hanzo’s face. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is  _ my home _ , too. My life that you’ve upended, that I apparently don’t deserve to know anything about.”

 

When Hanzo doesn’t respond, and continues to look through Genji as if he isn’t even there, he balls his fist in the front of Hanzo’s robes. “I’m not doing this anymore, Hanzo.  _ Tell me _ .” he snarls.

 

Hanzo looks down to Genji’s hand, and back up to him, one brow raised. “Or  _ what? _ ” he asks.

 

Genji feels himself shake; feels the indignant fury pulse through him. “Or  _ what? _ ” he parrots, “Or I’m leaving! And it’ll just be you, your lies, and all of your precious fucking ferals to keep you company.”

 

Hanzo laughs--the dry, sardonic laugh he saves for these moments. “What, you’ll  _ run away from home?” _ he mocks. “Don’t make me laugh. You haven’t even bothered learning how to hunt or clean kills yet. If you don’t starve to death first, then the raiders will pick you off. You can’t even  _ spot _ them until you’re staring down the barrels of their guns.”

 

“ _ Asshole _ .” Genji says through gritted teeth, releasing his hold. “I already know the Overwatch base is in Hangzhou. All I have to do is find my own boat and get to the base.” he said.

 

There’s a falter in Hanzo--just enough to make Genji grin snidely. It was something. “They’d take me. You know they would, with my combat experience. The cowboy could put in a good word for me, too.”

 

That does it; Hanzo’s head whips towards him, and he doesn’t manage to cover his glare in time for Genji to not notice.

 

“Maybe they’d partner me up with him. We’d be better together than the omnic.” He says off handedly. “We already get along; we talked for  _ hours _ before you showed up. He told me all about his past--no secrets or anything.”

 

Hanzo isn’t looking at him, he’s staring at the ground. Eyes too wide to continue the facade.

 

“He’s cute too, isn’t he?” he mutters, stepping forward. It’s with a self-congratulatory sense of accomplishment that he takes Hanzo’s chin and levels it to his own gaze. He resists, but he’s still too absorbed with the act--still determined to prove he doesn’t care--that there’s no strength behind it. “Think he’ll mind if I stop by his room?”

 

It only takes a moment for Hanzo to drop every sliver of control he’d attempted to maintain; less time for his fist to make contact with Genji’s sternum.

 

The impact sends him reeling back--he struggles to suck in a lungful of air, stumbling until he’s crashing into the curio. A sharp pain sears up his side from the contact, grasping the wood to hold himself upright and uttering a short, strained laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 

Hanzo’s breathing comes in short pants, fist still clenched.

 

“Fine.” Genji mutters, pushing himself off the curio and balling his hands into fists.  

 

They’re beyond words, and Genji’s almost glad for it. No more belittling, condescending victimizing. No more pretending there will ever be a ‘later’.

 

It helps that he’s been waiting all day to punch Hanzo.

 

He draws in a swift breath and throws himself bodily forward, fist making contact with the side of Hanzo’s face.  Hanzo blocks the second, countering it with a sharp twist of Genji’s flesh arm and ramming it behind his body; the pain shoots up the length of his arm and blossoms into his chest. He drives his elbow into Hanzo’s gut, throwing as much of his weight into it as he can. 

 

Their fights never last long--even with the overwhelming desire to see each other in pain, there are too many feelings muddling what should have been blind rage. Genji reels back first, shoulders pulled back and watching Hanzo for a reaction.

 

His breath catches in his throat.

 

Hanzo’s hair, unkempt and disheveled.

 

Sweat matting his forehead.

 

Thick rivulets of blood pouring from his nose, trailing over his lips and ending in a small bead at the base of his chin.

 

He should look away. He should just  _ leave _ and go fuck the cowboy. He should--

 

But he can’t. Not when Hanzo’s like this. Not when his tongue runs along his bottom lip, spreading the smear of blood over his lips like a vulgar stain.

 

His lips crash against Hanzo’s before he’s fully conscious of the decision he’s made. He feels his own lip split from the force--bites Hanzo’s hard enough to draw more blood. Hands both robotic and flesh grasp desperately at the small hairs at the base of Hanzo’s scalp, pulling his head back and allowing him access to his brother’s neck.

 

Hanzo gasps into the touch, chest arching and pressing into Genji’s. The acidic burn of copper envelopes his mouth; he's uncertain whose blood he’s tasting, lost in the sensation.

 

_ More _ .

 

His teeth scrape along the thin flesh of Hanzo’s neck, leaving red welts in their wake. Hanzo’s fingernails dig too hard into Genji’s back, inflicting a dull pain even through the thick leather of his armor. His own hands trail down Hanzo’s side until they settle on his hips, gripping them and pulling Hanzo forward to grind against his crotch. Hanzo releases the faintest moan, his hold loosening and placing more of his bodyweight on Genji.

 

Genji pulls away long enough to look into Hanzo’s eyes, heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

 

He stops, drinking in Hanzo’s half-lidded adoration.

 

They both want this. He knows this, and wants to continue, but also knows that they want it for different reasons.

 

Hanzo, with all of the callous apathy stripped away, desperate and wanting for  _ affirmation _ . These fights take the most out of Hanzo, with his already tepid foundation for his own emotions. He wants Genji to hold him, to  _ fuck  _ him, and make null what had brought them so low. He wants Genji to kiss him, to whisper that he loves him and would never leave him. He wants security that nothing will ever change the bond between them.

 

Genji moves to kiss him again, running his tongue over Hanzo’s bloodied, swollen lips. He bites down until he can feel a fresh surge of blood assault his senses. Hanzo pushes him away, bringing the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth. His eyes move between the thick pooling of blood to Genji’s stained mouth.

 

He’s beginning to understand what Genji wants.

 

Genji doesn’t pause, closing the distance between them and forcing his lips back against Hanzo’s. There’s a reluctance now--Hanzo’s hands don’t so readily go to cup his neck and his lips move slowly against Genji’s.

 

He won’t wait for him to catch up.

 

He wants to tear off Hanzo’s clothes; wants him bare and helpless. His fingers work with a familiar ease around the various knots and strings, haphazardly tearing a few articles in his haste . Hanzo grunts his disapproval, shifting his hands down and undoing the rest. Genji works quickly out of his own, kicking off the leathers and armors and tossing them to the back of the room. His eyelids droop when he turns back to fully take in Hanzo. It doesn’t matter how angry he is at him; the sight sucks the air from his chest. The pale, muscled flesh dotted with scars and moles, the slight trail of wiry hair winding from his navel to his half-hard cock.

 

A rush of warmth pools in the pit of his stomach and works to his cock; his thighs clench at the electric flare of pleasure that works through him.

 

“Well?” Hanzo’s voice cuts the reverie.

 

Humor--or an attempt at it.

 

Genji bites his bottom lip before closing the distance, hands greedily grasping Hanzo by the hips and shoving him onto the bed. Hanzo lands on his side awkwardly, forced to right himself before Genji sets upon him. Genji drinks it in--where was the elegant, regal Hanzo? Where was the  _ lie _ Hanzo put on to impress?

 

He clambers onto the bed, pushing Hanzo back until he’s lying on the silk covers.

 

He’s staring at the slight part of Hanzo’s lips with rapt attention, bringing his hips to hover just over Hanzo’s. He lets his quickly-hardening cock rut against the length of Hanzo’s, grinning at the gasp that forces Hanzo’s head backward.

 

“You put on such a show earlier, didn’t you?” Genji mumbles, coming to a crouch over him. His hands planted on either side of Hanzo’s face, he leans down just enough to let the stray bits of his bangs no longer held in place by the headband brush against his brother’s forehead. “All  _ grace _ and  _ poise _ . Maybe I should call them over, so they can see what you’re  _ really _ like.” he mutters darkly, hips shifting to grind his cock against Hanzo’s. Hanzo tries to glare, but the effect is lost when coupled with the desperate whine that sticks in his throat.

 

Genji chuckles, placing one hand on the side of Hanzo’s face. He brushes his thumb against the plump of Hanzo’s bottom lip, smearing the slick blood over the swollen flesh and onto his cheek. “No...I don’t think so. I like this sight being mine alone.” he whispers, leaning down and licking a broad stripe over Hanzo’s lips. He shudders as the stinging metallic taste again overpowers his senses. His eyes fall to half-mast, finding Hanzo’s. “Red is a good color for you.” He says, smiling down.

 

There is a palpable discomfort in Hanzo, but he still returns the smile, reaching a hand up to  run his own thumb along Genji’s lips. “And you.” He whispers.

 

Genji has to fight back a shudder; he wonders how he must look, with Hanzo’s blood smeared over his mouth like some insatiable beast bearing down on its prey. He bats Hanzo’s hand away from his face. It’s too affectionate--too calm and loving for the fervor and  _ need _ coursing through him. 

 

He slams their lips together, punctuating the act with another thrust. Hanzo groans into the kiss, brows only easing from their furrow when Genji’s robotic hand moves between them. He encircles it around their cocks, roughly pumping their lengths together. Its sloppy and erratic; his hand too tight and cold for it to be fully pleasureable.

 

Hanzo sharply turns his head, breathing out a shaken sigh.

 

Genji would normally take pause at such a signal--would gently kiss the thin flesh over Hanzo’s jawline and ask if he needed to slow down. His teeth instead find the nape of his neck, biting roughly into the flesh and sucking at the pink welts that form.

 

He’s hard enough for the ache to hurt, the ceaseless adrenaline burning at his fingertips. He’s grinding his hips into Hanzo’s with little thought--enjoying the pinpricks of pain when their hip bones collide.

 

His hands are shaking too much to open the drawer to the nightstand on his first attempt. He grunts a swear and twists himself enough to use his robotic hand to open the drawer. His fingers fumble, shoulder muscles straining until he pulls out the cylindrical bottle.

 

He uncaps it with one thumb and squeezes the dredges across smooth, metal fingers. He tosses it aside, makes a mental note to raid another sex store later for more, and reaches down. Hanzo’s body is a well-worn map, and he doesn’t waste time with the gentle touches and soft, lingering words he knows Hanzo is desperate for. He maneuvers one leg to pry Hanzo’s legs further apart, hand squeezing into the soft flesh hard enough to leave a prominent red mark when he finally trails it lower.

 

His thumb dips between the curvature of Hanzo’s ass, spreading it enough to ease a metallic finger between the cleft. He hears the cadence of his heart thrumming in his ears; feels the fervor of his body begging for  _ more _ . It takes more patience than he was aware he possessed to slowly split Hanzo open with one finger. Hanzo’s breath hitches on his lips, head pushed back into the bed as an attempt to mutter something coherent falls silent when Genji crooks his finger at the metallic joint. There’s always a moment when he regrets using his artificial appendage to fuck Hanzo--regrets not being able to feel Hanzo’s walls clamp down around the intruding digit. But he knows--even if Hanzo denies it--that the cold, alien sensation of the metal finger burns and aches at a deeply rooted part of his brother’s core.

 

The second finger slides in easily. Genji watches Hanzo’s body for a reaction--feels his own cock stiffen at the way Hanzo’s shoulders pull back and force his back to arch off of the bed. He relishes the way Hanzo’s face contorts, bottom lip sucked in to avoid crying out. Does it hurt? Genji wonders--perhaps hopes--that his erratic, forceful thrusts are at least a discomfort. 

 

It still isn’t enough; the thrum in his veins and heat spiking at his nerves. The third finger follows shortly after, buried to the knuckle and letting them remain there for a time. He watches the rim of Hanzo’s hole clench uselessly around the intruding digits.

 

There’s an audible gasp when he retracts his fingers all at once, both hands grasping either of Hanzo’s thighs and peeling them further apart. Those pale, scarred legs that part with no resistance at his touch. There’s the softest tremor racing just beneath the flesh that he can feel; a quake of his legs that betrays his mingled dread and ceaseless need. There’s no doubt anymore between either of them what this is.

 

Even with the resentment boiling under his skin and the adrenaline begging for  _ harder  _  and  _ faster _ , he falters when his hand moves to grasp the base of his cock.

 

Hanzo’s eyes are rammed forcefully shut, mouth pinched in a thin line in preparation for the inevitable. He won’t do anything to stop Genji--won’t say anything. Genji pauses, chest heaving with heavy breath.

 

Hanzo wants this, he realizes with a shallow intake of air

 

Hanzo wants to be hurt, for Genji to hurt him in the worst way possible. Feels he deserves it, and that Genji is owed this revenge.

 

_ Revenge _ . The words sinks heavily down Genji’s throat. He removes his hand from his own cock, fingers growing numb and lip quaking with uncertainty. The fervor and blood-boiling need to  _ hurt _ utterly torn from his chest and leaving him bare, shocked back into a reality that burns up and down his spine.

 

There’s tears in his eyes before he can consciously think to stop them.

 

Hanzo’s hand on his arm forces him over; he tears away, skin burning at the touch.

 

“Genji?”

 

Hanzo’s voice is raw; hoarse. It’s as much concern as it is pain.  _ He still wants you to hurt him _ .

 

Genji is off the bed in flurry of limbs, lips rammed together in a thin line as he attempts to look anywhere other than Hanzo. Tries to  _ think _ of anything other than Hanzo, but he’s surrounded. Hanzo’s scent permeates the room, the sound of his ragged breath accosting his ears--Genji can even  _ feel _ his brother’s sweat still clinging to his skin, and blood flooding his mouth.

 

He doesn’t say anything when he finally manages to stand, walking with purpose to the balcony and tearing the screen open. He sucks in the first lungful of cool night air greedily, filling his chest until he can feel it burn inside of him. His feet map an uneven path to the railing, bare feet slapping against the wood until he can bring his chest to rest against the raised wood. Breath coming in uneven stutters, he places the majority of his weight against the rail.

 

_ Hanzo had wanted--and he had almost...almost what? _

 

He didn’t want to think about the implications--the knowledge of  _ how _ he had almost fucked Hanzo.  _ He’d wanted it to hurt. Wanted to harm Hanzo in retribution. And Hanzo had wanted him to do it _ .

 

Genji gives a loud, hollow bark of laughter. “Of course.” he mutters, words ragged and head coming to rest on the cool wood. Of course Hanzo would think  _ this _ constituted a fair trade off. Genji could hurt him for the cruelty he had shown. It was so  _ utterly _ Hanzo’s way of thinking--that pain for pain would make things right. That it would do anything besides drive a further wedge between them and taint everything they had ever been.

 

The shock slowly passes, leaving a faint sense of nausea and disbelief in its wake. His breathing evens to a steady rhythm, eyes unlidding to the full breadth of the night’s sky. Absolute quiet permeates the air--no birds, no insects, and not even the ferals.  _ Nothing _ , besides his own heartbeat and staggered breath.

 

Seconds pass into minutes--he tries to focus on the sheet of stars overhead, or the long shadows stretching from the buildings of the city below. Anything-- _ anything _ other than Hanzo, or that stupid cowboy and his pet robot. When he was out here, at least, it all felt less real--there weren’t two members of Overwatch in their home, no secret  _ deal _ his brother had made, and no ugly hatred between them.

 

Even without the absolute quiet, he would have been able to hear Hanzo’s approach. His back had already stiffened by the time the screen opens, and Hanzo steps onto the balcony. His footfalls have always been softer than Genji’s--despite having the same mechanical legs, Hanzo had always been better about walking gracefully.

 

Hanzo has something to say--would not have come out if he didn’t have something planned. Genji decides to beat him to it.

 

“What I almost did to you--” he begins, hearing Hanzo’s approach sharply stop. With one deep breath to steady his nerves, Genji stands, turning to face his brother. His eyes find Hanzo’s, locking onto the dark grey that so closely mirror his own--tries not to focus on how red and swollen they looked around the edges. Thankful, at least, that Hanzo has cleaned the blood from his mouth. He steps forward a pace, hands clenched and determination set in his brow. “Things can never get that bad between us again, Hanzo. I love you--” his voice cracks as he whispers the words, swallows, and continues, “--And I can’t...I couldn’t live with myself if I’d gone through with it…”

 

 

Hanzo closes the distance between them with three short steps. His arms wrap firmly around Genji before he can even think to push his brother away. He doesn’t want to be treated like a child--doesn’t want Hanzo to see him as someone who always needs to be protected; but it doesn’t quite stop him from wrapping his arms around Hanzo’s waist and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

 

He feels foolish, standing naked on this balcony and crying into his brother’s warmth. Foolish, feeling as comforted as he does by Hanzo’s very presence.

 

Hanzo’s hand is rough and calloused, but feels to be the most gentle touch possible as it runs through his hair.

 

When Hanzo finally speaks, there’s a crack to it--an uncertainty and devastation Genji has never heard before. He has been there when Hanzo has cried before--held him as his brother wailed over their lost family and friends. But never before has he heard such  _ regret _ .

 

“It was about you, Genji.” he says with a croak, hand moving to cup the back of Genji’s neck and own face pushed into the short green locks.

 

“I made the deal over you.”


End file.
